


The Prince and the Huntsman

by WordsandChocolate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, First Kiss, First Love, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Teen!John, Teen!Sherlock, mycroft is annoying, prince!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:24:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsandChocolate/pseuds/WordsandChocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there lived a Prince, whose skin was as white as snow, whose hair was black as ravens' wings, whose lips were as red as blood. And he was bored.</p><p>The tale of Sherlock and John, told as a Snow White fairy tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrunetteBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrunetteBookworm/gifts).



> BrunetteBookworm challenged me to write a Johnlock fic, with the setting of a fairy tale and the trope of a secret relationship. It's ending up longer than I planned. This is my first Johnlock fic. Enjoy!

Once upon a time in the kingdom of Londonia, there lived a young prince called Sherlock. His skin was as white as snow, his lips were as red as blood. His hair was as black as ravens' wings, and his eyes were the silver of the stars. By age seven he was more beautiful than the day, and by the time he was sixteen, he was more beautiful than the night. Sherlock lived with his widowed mother, the Queen, at the royal palace.

To everyone’s dismay, Sherlock was not a model prince. He chafed at restrictions, and turned his nose up at the princely pursuits of hunting and feasting. He was rude to visiting ambassadors, more interested in deducing their unsavoury pursuits and announcing them to the room, to the Queen’s horror. He spent most of his time in the storeroom he had taken over, doing what he referred to as “experiments”. Days would pass where no one would see him, save the palace cook Mrs Hudson, who brought him meals and cajoled him to eat now and then.

When Sherlock turned 17, the Queen arranged for suitable daughters to visit with their families, looking to secure a match. They would leave the castle in tears after spending an hour with Sherlock, and the Queen was at her wit’s end. Finally she hired him a tutor, at great expense. He promised her absolute discretion, and assured her that he would have the means necessary to model Sherlock into a proper prince.

“Sherlock, this is Mycroft. He will be your new tutor.”

Sherlock glanced at him, eyes narrowing as he took in the expensive cut of Mycroft’s tunic, the polished wood of his cane, and other minute clues adding up to the fact that this man was going to be a problem. Mycroft gazed intently back, the corners of his mouth rising in a slight smirk as he studied Sherlock’s expression.

With an effort, Sherlock tossed his head, black curls falling away to better display his insolent eyes.

“I doubt this one will have anything to teach me, Mother,” he said coldly, leaving the room and heading for his experiment room. He needed a strategy. This Mycroft was smarter than an ordinary person, he admitted reluctantly to himself. Not smarter than him of course.

The next morning, Sherlock rolled out of bed, and made his way down to the storeroom to continue one of his experiments. He was met with a locked door. Impossible. Sherlock stalked to the kitchen.

“Mrs Hudson! Have you locked the storeroom door?” he demanded.

The older lady looked up from the kitchen bench, where she was busy kneading dough. She beamed to see Sherlock standing there, not seeming to notice the sour look on his face.

“Prince Sherlock! How are we today? Here, have some biscuits, and I made that drink you like!”

Absently Sherlock took the mug and a biscuit, and said impatiently, “Must I repeat myself?”

Mrs Hudson looked confused.

“Your storeroom door? No dear, why would I lock that? I don’t even have a key!”

“Nor do I,” Sherlock muttered darkly, going back to his room to fetch his lockpicks.

He’d never had need to lock that door, the servants knew it was his, and kept away. Well, except Mrs Hudson, but she never disturbed anything. Soon he was back down at the storeroom door, on his knees, probing the lock with his first pick. Or rather, trying to probe. There was a strange substance inside the lock, stopping up the keyhole. Intrigued, Sherlock scraped a bit off onto his hand, studying it. This was new. Ah! He knew who had done this. The tap of a cane made him look up. Mycroft was standing in the hallway, looking smug.

“You!” Sherlock said savagely, standing up and glaring at the man. “What do you hope to gain from this?”

“Your attention, Sherlock. Which I have.” Mycroft replied calmly. “Now, your mother the Queen has employed me to improve your skills, which are, quite frankly, deplorable. You are the Queen’s heir, and you have no idea how to conduct oneself as befitting a prince, and future ruler of this kingdom. I shudder to think at what the kingdom could become in your hands. However, I have the skills needed to improve your....everything.”

“Well, _obviously!_ ” Sherlock snapped. “You’re noble-born, of an important family- but not the eldest, or they wouldn’t have let you take on this role. Oh it chafes you, does it not? You could rule so much better than your older brother. You’re the very model of everything Mother would like. But I don’t.”

“If you want to continue your ‘experiments’, it will be in your best interests to cooperate, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, still looking unruffled.

Sherlock continued scraping at the strange substance. If he could figure out how to make it, it might prove useful. He would get the door open eventually.

“You may open that door eventually, but how will your time-sensitive experiments fare in the delay, Sherlock?” Mycroft needled.

Ugh, of course Mycroft had been poking around in HIS experiements.

“What do you want?!” Sherlock said finally.

“Your time. Spend at least two hours a day studying with me, actually learning and paying attention, and I will allow the door to remain unlocked. And I will give you samples of the substance in the lock, for your own personal study.”

Sherlock thought it over. It galled him to have to bargain for access to his own work room, but obviously the Queen had approved Mycroft and he doubted his ability to change her mind, not after all the noble families he had upset.

“Very well” he muttered sulkily.

And thus began a new, mostly unwilling relationship in Sherlock’s life. To his disgust, Mycroft fitted neatly into the household as if he had always been there. Mrs Hudson indulged him, baking him pastries and the Queen beamed whenever she saw Sherlock studying with him. The worst part was, that Sherlock actually liked interacting with Mycroft. Just a little bit. It was refreshing to have an intellect that matched his own, and Sherlock liked needling Mycroft with the fact that he actually knew the proper way to greet a Duchess, or what the law said about tithing- he just didn’t choose to do it or remember it. Why would he? It was dull and boring and he couldn’t care less about it. What he didn’t like was how Mycroft kept trying to manipulate him into doing things. Sometimes he just wanted to slap that smug smile off his face.

Today was one of those days, as he woke to the news that a new noble family with an eligible daughter was arriving, and that both the Queen and Mycroft expected him to be in attendance.

“And do refrain from making her cry, Sherlock” Mycroft said in a supercilious tone. “Or you will find your experiment room to be locked all day tomorrow.”

Sherlock arrived at his storeroom to find that not only did he have to put up with this, but that Mycroft obviously thought he wasn’t to be in there today either. Infuriating man! Giving the door an angry kick, he stalked back to his room, where he found an outfit laid out on the bed, obviously something he was expected to wear. A well-cut purple tunic with silver embroidery, black leggings and shiny black boots. Annoyingly, all the things were up to Sherlock’s standard, and things he would have picked out himself. He undressed and pulled the clothes on sulkily, then after a moment of thought, strode to his wardrobe and pulled over the top of everything, his favourite coat. It was midnight blue, came down to his ankles, and if he left it unbuttoned, it would clash just slightly with his outfit’s colour scheme. Just enough to annoy Mycroft, but not enough that he could point it out. Excellent.

Sherlock entered the great hall to find the new family already there, taking a morning tea and mingling with the rest of the court. Mycroft spotted him, frowned, and gestured him over.

“And here he is now. Prince Sherlock, may I introduce to you Lord Peter of Hillendale, and his daughter, Sally.”

Sherlock inclined his head, Sally dipped a curtsy. Inwardly Sherlock sighed. Their histories were already plain to see, and he was bored before anyone had spoken. He let the awkward silence lag on, until Lord Peter broke it.

“What a pleasure to meet you, your highness. I’ve been hearing about your interest in alchemy.”

He looked at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock sighed out loud this time.

“They’re called experiments. I’m interested in science, not that rubbish.”

Lord Peter looked offended. Sally looked bored, and gave Sherlock a disdainful look. She didn’t seem any more interested than he. Might be a challenge to reduce her to tears Sherlock mused. Mycroft leaned closer to give Sherlock a drink, and murmured quietly.

“One more comment like that, and it will be locked for two days.”

A bright flame of anger licked through Sherlock, and he was done performing for Mycroft. He’d not be manipulated like this anymore. Throwing the drink on the ground, he glared at Mycroft.

“I’m done with this...charade” he snapped.

“Sherlock-” Mycroft began warningly.

“Oh, do shut up!” Sherlock said, warming to his subject. “I couldn’t care less about boring, stupid Lord Peter and his dull daughter.”

“I beg your pardon!” Lord Peter spluttered, his face going red.

Sally looked at him like something that had crawled out from under a rock.

“You have insulted me! I won’t stand for it- and to think that I even considered you an eligible suitor for my daughter!”

Sherlock scoffed. “Oh please, Sally’s not interested, she’s already got someone at home. She was with him last night!”

Sally stepped back, her face stricken.

“What?!” her father yelled.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft said angrily, and Sherlock grinned at his loss of composure.

“Sod this!”

He strode out of the hall, along the passageway, and outside the castle. The storeroom was locked, and he didn’t want Mycroft finding him in his bedroom and lecturing him. The sun was shining, and the castle grounds were quiet, most of the servants were inside, busy with the morning tea. Sherlock stood at the front entrance. There was cleared land for about 40 paces, then thick forest. A pathway headed off to the right, leading to the nearby village. He didn’t bother with outside much, unless he was collecting samples for experiments. Surely there was some place he could go, to avoid Mycroft and his mother for a while.

Suddenly, Sherlock was pushed from behind. He staggered forward, nearly hitting the side castle wall before managing to right himself. He turned to face his attacker. It was Lord Peter, red in the face with anger. He must have followed Sherlock out. Sherlock glanced past him into the shadows of the entrance, but saw no one else. No Mycroft. Good.

“How dare you insult my family and tell lies about my daughter!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Oh do push off, you odious little man. I don’t care whether you believe me, or what you think of me.”

The punch came as a surprise, and Sherlock didn’t think to dodge it. It caught him square on the jaw, and sent him back into the wall. He supposed he had underestimated the man’s temper. There was always something. Rubbing his jaw, he sneered at the man.

“Really? You thought hitting a prince was a good use of your time?”

It seemed that the Lord was well past reason, for he ignored Sherlock and punched him in the stomach. Sherlock gasped, and began to bend over, but the Lord gripped his throat with strong hands and pushed him back into the wall, pinning him there. This was a problem, Sherlock thought faintly, attempting to kick the man. He had learnt fencing, one princely pursuit that he didn’t actually mind, but he hadn’t studied much about unarmed combat. His kingdom had been peaceful for a while, and he never saw the need, since no one was allowed to lay a hand on him. He should probably reconsider this. His eyes were starting to see spots, and he was coming close to blacking out.

Suddenly the hands were pulled away, and he dropped to the ground, panting. Slowly his vision cleared, and Sherlock saw something rather astonishing. A boy, clearly a commoner, from his clothing, and not much older than Sherlock himself, was punching Lord Peter in the face. Several times. His dirty blonde hair glinted in the sunshine.

“How dare you.” the boy stated clearly, with a kind of gritted rage in his tone. “You leave off him!” He gave him a kick, then swept his legs out from under him, and Lord Peter hit the ground with a jolt, gasping.

The boy turned and made his way quickly over to Sherlock, bending down over him, touching his neck with gentle fingers.

“You alright?” he asked worriedly, inspecting his neck, and his face.

Sherlock couldn’t stop staring. He had kind blue eyes, and the weathered face of someone who spent his time outdoors. His hands were gentle, but strong, with interesting callouses.

“We should get some ice on that,” the boy murmured, his cheeks heating a little under Sherlock’s gaze.

“Who are you?” Sherlock croaked.

“Oh sorry, I’m John.”

“John. I’m-“

John grinned. “I know who you are, Sherlock. I mean your highne-“

“-No no Sherlock is fine.”

“You would dare lay a hand on a Lord, peasant! I’ll have you strung up for this!” Lord Peter spat, having gotten back to his feet.

Sherlock stood up, moving in front of John.

“Really? If you lay a hand on John, or say a word to anyone, I will let everyone know what you did to me. Want to know the penalty for raising a hand against your prince, my lord?”

Lord Peter looked down, seeming to suddenly remember what he had just done a moment ago.

“No” he muttered.

“No, what?”

“No, your highness.”

“Make your excuses, I want you and your daughter gone by the midday hour,” Sherlock said, turning back to John and dismissing the other man from his mind.

Lord Peter slunk past them and back inside the castle.

“Really Sherlock, we should get you some ice.”

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively.

“It’s not important, John, it’s just transport. Why did you do it? You’re a commoner, he’s a Lord...”

John shrugged. “So? I don’t like bullies, whatever their status.”

“Well to be fair, I did provoke him. I do that.”

“You do what?”

“Oh, I can look at people, deduce their history. I was bored, so I deduced his daughter’s history and it wasn’t to Lord Peter’s liking.”

“You...deduce?” John looked sceptical.

Sherlock grinned excitedly. “Yes. For example, from your hands, your walk and your stance, I know that you are no stranger to hand-to-hand fighting. The other calluses on your hands and your tan suggest you have regular work using a bow and setting traps, that and the quality of your boots suggest you are the castle huntsman. You are new to the position, but not the job. Interestingly, you have knowledge of medicine- as the commoner’s cure for bruises is raw meat. I however have determined from my experiments that ice is a far better choice, and you know that. Lastly, you have a father with whom you have a volatile relationship.”

He stopped, and braced himself.

John just stared at him, blue eyes wide.

“That. Was. Amazing.”

“You think so?” Sherlock said shyly.

“Brilliant! You are brilliant. How did you...that was just...wow.”

“That’s not usually what they say” Sherlock murmured, blushing a little.

John laughed, gesturing at Sherlock’s face, where a large bruise was starting to blossom on his jawline.

“Well yes I see what they usually say!”

“That hasn’t actually happened before. But yes, they’re never very pleased.”

John smiled. “I’ll just have to teach you what to do if it happens again.”

Sherlock smiled back. “That sounds...not boring.”

“You did get one thing wrong though” John said quietly. “My father- you’re right about him, but he’s not, well he’s dead now. That’s why I have the job.”

Sherlock sighed. “There’s always something.” He turned the collar of his coat up. “So, where’s a good place to hide for a while?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John spend some time together.

John looked surprised. “Hide? Why would you want to-”

“Does it matter?” Sherlock snapped. He winced, bringing a hand up to his jaw.

John shook his head. “All right your crankiness. Just wait here one minute, and I’ll be right back.”

He ducked inside the front entrance before Sherlock had time to reply. The Prince stood uneasily outside, feeling rather exposed. His neck and jaw throbbed, and his stomach ached. Being beaten up was not an experience he’d care to repeat, he decided. Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about John. Why had he not seen him before? Yes, obviously he didn’t visit the forest all that much. The Prince felt miffed. Someone should have informed him that there was one interesting person in his domain. John had rescued him from Lord Peter with no ulterior motive, and he found Sherlock’s deductions interesting. And he talked to Sherlock like an equal. Fascinating. He had no idea what John was doing, yet he was waiting for him.

John came back out, holding a cloth wrapped around something.

“Ice from the kitchen,” he explained, handing it to Sherlock, who put it against his jaw. “Come on, I know somewhere you can hide.”

John led Sherlock across the castle lawn, and into the forest. The trees were dense, and there was a lot of undergrowth. John walked confidently through it, keeping to a trail that seemed invisible to Sherlock’s eye. He frowned, making a mental note of some new skills he needed to acquire. He could see himself spending regular time here, away from Mycroft’s eye. If John didn’t mind. Sherlock knew his presence grew less desirable over time. Though it usually only took a deduction or two to have people start to politely withdraw as soon as they could. And that was fine, Sherlock had no interest in pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Maybe if he found something John would like, he could draw out the association. What would a huntsman want? A rise in status? A new bow? Sherlock realised he had absolutely no idea how to go about this. He stumbled, and John stopped, turning around to catch his elbow and steady him.

“Sorry. I kind of went into auto mode there.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock muttered, taking refuge behind his bag of ice.

John kept his hands wrapped around Sherlock’s arm, and walked beside him the rest of the way, steering Sherlock past obtacles, and talking quietly to him about the plants and animals he enountered while hunting. The Prince had never had anyone talk to him like this before. John had none of the patronising superiority of Mycroft, or the cloying protectiveness of his Mother. Neither did he chatter on like Mrs Hudson. He was patient when Sherlock wanted to stop and examine the various fungi along the trail- and didn’t make any comments about how his experiments weren’t the appropriate past-time for a Prince. He felt perplexed that his brain seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about how warm and strong John’s hands felt wrapped around his arm.

Finally they reached a clearing, which held an old wooden hut, the thatched roof slightly crooked. A small well was off to one side, and an outhouse stood on the opposite side. John gestured, looking a little embarassed.

“It isn’t much, I know. But it’s private, and no one comes out here. This is the huntsman cottage. I don’t always sleep here, I have a room in the village with my mum and sister...” he trailed off, realising he was rambling.

Sherlock headed for the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. He was standing in a large open room, divided into sections. The section he was standing in had a fireplace, shelves along the wall that held kitchen items and a large wooden table with some chairs. To his left was a bed, a straw mattress on a base of wooden slats with a blanket draped over. A wooden chest sat at the end. There was a wooden stand against the wall housing a bow and quiver, a smaller table with tools and feathers laid upon it, and a couple of floor cushions. Sherlock took this all in at a glance, and moved across the floor to sink down cross-legged on one of the cushions, leaning back againt the side of the bed. It felt intimate, being in John’s house. Apart from Mother, he’d never been in somebody’s rooms before.

John had entered behind him, and moved to the shelves against the wall, pulling down a pair of cups and a stoppered jug. He poured something into the cups and brought them over to Sherlock, giving him one and sitting down on the other floor cushion with the other. Sherlock took a sip. The liquid burned going down and brought tears to his eyes as he spluttered. John chuckled.

“You haven’t had mead before, I take it?”

Sherlock nodded his head, inspecting the liquid still left in his cup.

“I have, but nothing like this.”

He snuck another look at John’s face as the boy took another drink. His cheeks were pink from the hike and the mead, his blue eyes dark and sparkling. Sherlock felt strange.

“So why did you need to hide? I take it you pissed off the guy that was attacking you, but you’re the Prince. So...” John asked, meeting his gaze.

Sherlock sighed. “I was supposed to be behaving myself in exchange for being allowed access to my experiment room. But I got bored with it. And I am sick of meeting eligible daughters, they are so tiresome.”

John’s eyes were a little wide. “Wait, why would you have to bargain for access to somewhere? You’re the guy everyone is supposed to obey, right?”

“Even I have to obey the Queen, John. She decided I wasn’t behaving appropriately for a Prince, and brought in a tutor to teach me. Mycroft has her permission to behave as he sees fit, insufferable idiot that he is.”

John nodded. “And so you misbehaved, the Lord guy attacked you, and you’re hiding from Mycroft. Tell me about your experiment room then. What do you have in there? What experiments are you doing at the moment?”

Sherlock took another drink to hide the blush coming up in his cheeks again. No one had ever been interested in his activities before. He began to tell John what he was working on, and moved on to describing the equipment he used, and what he had adapted to his use.

John listened carefully, asking intelligent questions. He fed them both some bread and cheese around lunchtime, ignoring Sherlock’s protests.

“You need to eat to soak up some of that mead, or you’re not going to make it back to the castle later” John said firmly, passing Sherlock a plate. “Eat.”

The afternoon passed pleasantly. John told Sherlock about his family, how he had been apprenticed to his father, who taught him the trade. Sherlock deduced what John wasn’t saying- his father had been a drunk, who hit him, and most likely drank himself to death. He felt an unexpected stab of anger, and wished he could have been around to protect John from that. John finally stood, picking up his quiver from the stand and strapping it across his strong back. He looked down at Sherlock uncertainly.

“Look, I have to go hunting, do you...want to come back tomorrow? Or you can stay here, if you need to.”

Sherlock stood, his head spun and he staggered, starting to fall. John stepped forward to steady him, but he was off balance, and that, together with the sudden force of Sherlock’s body weight, sent them both over. Luckily the bed was in their way, and they landed rather heavily, John letting out a gasp as the quiver on his back hit the bed, then Sherlock. He pushed away a mouthful of Sherlock’s curls, and saw that Sherlock’s cheeks had pinked in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry” Sherlock said, looking anywhere but John’s amused face.

He was suddenly very aware of John’s strong body pressed against his, thighs touching, belt digging into the soft part of his stomach. He tried to rise, but John clasped his hands around his upper arms, halting his movement.

“Woah wait a minute, let me. You’re not used to mead, are you? Slowly does it.”

He angled his hips and gently rolled Sherlock to one side, before extricating himself from the bed.

“Why don’t you just rest for a bit, and when I get back I’ll help you home?”

Sherlock sighed.

“I’ve already been away too long. Mycroft will have servants out looking for me. I’d best go.”

Slowly he pulled himself to a sitting position, then standing. He swayed a little, but stayed upright.

“Do you have some water?”

John nodded, and brought him a jug, with which Sherlock promptly doused his head. John tried not to stare at the water dripping from sopping curls to slide down collarbones of creamy skin. Sherlock shook his head, then looked at John, a little shyly.

“Could I...see you tomorrow? Maybe you could show me some of that hand-to-hand combat?”

“What...oh yeah!” John snapped back to attention. “I’ll see you home.”

Pulling his bow from the stand, he and Sherlock made their way back through the forest, John explaining the basic concepts of pathfinding and bushcraft to Sherlock, who listened carefully, trying to memorise the path that brought him to John’s hut. After a while Sherlock could see the way back to the castle grounds, and he stopped.

“I can see my way now John. Best you not be seen with me. I have no wish to bring Mycroft’s attention to you.”

John cocked his head, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Your tutor yeah? Skinny git with reddish hair? I could take him.”

Sherlock burst out laughing, eyes sparkling, and John was struck with a sudden need to kiss that smiling cupid’s bow mouth. Oh hell. John grinned back instead.

“Alright then, see you tomorrow!” he said cheerfully, taking the image of a bright-eyed happy Sherlock away with him.

Sherlock gazed at John’s back, getting his smile under control. He didn’t want Mycroft to get too curious. He wasn’t going to ruin this. Once he had his bored look back on his face (which wasn’t too far from the truth, as now that he had met John, every moment without him seemed dull and boring) he followed the trail out of the forest onto the castle grounds. Heading for the front entrance, he was met almost immediately by one of Mycroft’s personal servants. She looked him over curiously.

“Lord Mycroft is looking for you, Your Highness,” she murmured.

Sherlock sighed wearily.

“I imagine he is. Lead on, then.”

Best to get this over with quickly, then cage some early dinner from Mrs Hudson. He followed the woman along the hallways and finally up a staircase to Mycroft’s rooms. The door opened to reveal Mycroft seated in a sitting room, he looked up at them, eyes widening slightly at Sherlock’s appearance. He stood.

“Thank you Anthea, you may leave.”

The woman bobbed a curtsey and quickly left the room, closing the door behind her. Sherlock stared defiantly at Mycroft. The older man strode to Sherlock’s side, bringing up a swift hand to cup his jaw.

“Who.did.this?” Mycroft said quietly, in a dangerous tone.

Sherlock had forgotten about his face and throat, but Mycroft’s grip brought it back. He winced at the pressure of Mycroft’s fingers, and the man quickly withdrew his hand.

“My apologies. Who did this to you? I will have him hanged.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Why would you care?”

The man looked pained at the observation.

“Sherlock, you are the Prince, the heir to the throne. It is not fitting for anyone to lay a hand on you.”

Sherlock grinned, delighted at finding out something new about his tutor, who generally played things very close to the chest.

“No, that’s true, but not what you meant.”

Mycroft’s lips firmed, and he looked away.

“Fine. I admit, I find...our mornings together intellectually...pleasant.”

Sherlock did too, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He wondered if this was what having another sibling was like. John might know. Mycroft’s eyes suddenly narrowed.

“It was Lord Peter. That explains the sudden departure after lunch. I will take care of this.”

Sherlock frowned.

“I really don’t care about it now, Mycroft. Leave it.”

Mycroft shook his head.

“No. This is unacceptable. And your behaviour is also unacceptable. Where have you been? The servants have been looking for hours.”

Sherlock shrugged.

“I didn’t care for any company.”

Mycroft stared at him sternly. Sherlock raised his chin, and stared back. He was not going to talk about John. That was his secret. Mycroft sighed, and let his gaze drop. Sherlock started edging away. Was it possible he’d managed to escape the lecture? Mycroft noticed, and smirked.

“You may go, have Mrs Hudson tend to you. Oh and Sherlock, I do look forward to our lessons tomorrow, we’ll be having discussions on how to treat visiting nobility- an area it seems you need more practice in. After all, you’ll have plenty of free time now that your experiments will be delayed for several days.”

Sherlock turned away, hiding a smirk of his own. He didn’t even care, now that he had John to look forward to. Maybe he’d start some new experiments in John’s hut. That table looked like a good space to work on.

Mycroft watched as Sherlock left, then waited expectantly for Anthea to return. He was glad he had cultivated her- she had a sharp mind and ability to take initiative that was rare in a servant. Sure enough, a quiet knock on the door sounded, and Anthea slipped in. Mycroft looked at her questioningly.

“I think he was in the forest my Lord” Anthea said quietly. “He came from that direction, and there were leaves in his hair.”

Mycroft nodded.

“I suspected as much. Who do we have?”

Anthea pursed her lips. “I’m not sure sir. Most of the servants work in the castle, they don’t go into the forest. Too easy to get lost without being skilled in woodcraft. There’s the royal huntsman, but I don’t know him at all.”

Mycroft inclined his head. “Very well. Take the time to investigate the huntsman. We will see if he is someone we can cultivate.”

Anthea nodded, bobbing a quick curtsey again, and left the room. Mycroft sat down to ponder the day’s events. He had been furious with Sherlock, right up until he saw the bruising on the boy’s face and neck. He was displeased with this new development. He was here to tutor Sherlock, not care about him. Caring was not an advantage, as he well knew. Mycroft compartmentalised that, and moved on. He picked up his still warm tea, and sipped it slowly, enjoying its subtle aroma. Time to plan an...accident for Lord Peter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are realised, passions overflow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a shorter chapter, but it ended naturally and I didn't want to keep you guys waiting much longer. Enjoy :-)

Over the passing months, Sherlock’s life changed as a happy routine was formed. In the mornings he took breakfast with the Queen. She talked to him about politics, his studies, and Sherlock grew adept at evading questions about his personal life. Since the Lord Peter incident there had been no more invitations sent out. Sherlock was sure Mycroft was only biding his time, but he appreciated the reprieve. After breakfast he met with Mycroft, and practised looking attentive while Mycroft lectured him on various subjects. He couldn’t resist leaving without a good argument though, and he was an expert at bringing those into being. They were a good way of avoiding Mycroft’s attempts to find out where he was spending his afternoons.

After checking on his experiments, he would head to the kitchens for a packed lunch from Mrs Hudson. He then headed off to John’s hut, now confident enough in his woodcraft that he was able to take a circuitous path that both shook off any of Mycroft’s spies, and hid the direction of John’s hut. When he arrived in the clearing, John would be waiting for him, ready to school him in hand-to-hand fighting, woodcraft, or to simply assist him in the experiments Sherlock had set up on the dining table.

He didn’t like to think too hard on why he looked forward to spending time with John. That would mean facing how lonely he had been before. It was enough that John still greeted him with a smile, and hadn’t grown tired of his company yet.

His morning now behind him, he walked through the woods, carrying a basket. The Queen was going away today, on a tour of the neighbouring kingdoms. Sherlock hoped that meant a little more freedom, but Mycroft was still around, so he didn’t get his hopes up. Hearing the faint snap of branches behind him, he veered sideways and walked up the stream for a bit, then doubled back. Soon he could hear nothing but the birds in the trees. Satisfied that he had lost his pursuer, he made his way to John’s hut.

“Hello Sherlock!” John greeted him cheerfully.

John was sitting at the table, fletching arrows. Sherlock noticed with some annoyance that his experiments had been moved. John followed his gaze, and gave him an unrepentant look.

“It’s my table, and I needed the room.”

Sherlock made a disgruntled noise, putting the basket down on the floor. John placed the arrow he was holding down, and carefully replaced the lid on his pot of glue.

“We’ve got time before lunch, what do you want to work on?”

“That throw you were showing me yesterday,” Sherlock said, leading the way outside. “I need to perfect it.”

“You always need to perfect it,” John said affectionately, following him.

John had been amazed at the single-mindedness Sherlock displayed these last months. Determined to learn both woodcraft and hand-to-hand, Sherlock drove them both relentlessly, picking up the skills faster than John ever had. He had too much natural finesse to be a brawler, John thought. But he would be able to handle himself in a fight better than the last time. The hardest part of these last few months was hiding his reactions from Sherlock. The times they had ended up wrestling on the ground, John had been hard–pressed to conceal his attraction. Sherlock was a friend, he tried to convince himself, nothing more. He was a Prince, and John had no business taking any liberties.

Thoughts were jolted out of his head as Sherlock ran at him. John neatly dodged, but was forced to spin quickly as Sherlock pivoted and nearly caught him. His silvery eyes were bright and excited, his pale cheeks beginning to flush. John never tired of looking at that face. Didn’t stop him throwing a punch at it though. It was Sherlock’s turn to dodge, stepping into his personal space rather than backing away. John knew what he was trying to do, but he wasn’t going to make it easy. The two boys danced about each other, John solid and quick, Sherlock graceful and precise. Finally, John was just a little slow to execute a turn, and Sherlock used his momentum, throwing him over his hip to the ground.

“Ha!” Sherlock yelled triumphantly. “I got you!”

John grinned, and used his leg to hook Sherlock’s ankle, sending the boy stumbling backwards. He jumped up and sprang on him, and they were wrestling again, giggling and getting covered with leaves. Finally Sherlock ended up straddling John, pinning his wrists against the ground.

“Now I’ve got you!” he crowed, panting with exertion, leaves tangled in his curls.

John didn’t try very hard to wriggle out of his predicament. In fact he was trying to think about his mother, instead of the fact that Sherlock was straddling his crotch, a smear of leaf litter across those perfect cheekbones, smiling down at him.

Sherlock gazed at John, his triumphant grin slowly fading to something else. John’s cheeks coloured under the scrutiny. Sherlock raised a hand and slowly brushed a leaf from John’s hair, his fingers lingering in a tentative caress. John’s breath hitched.

“Oh!” Sherlock breathed, his cupid bow lips drawing together.

Slowly he leaned down, and carefully pressed his lips to John’s. Sherlock’s lips were soft and full against John’s, and John shivered at the touch. Was this really happening? Sherlock started to draw back, releasing John’s other wrist.

“I’m sorry, I-”

John surged up, pulling Sherlock back down on top of him into another kiss. The Prince was shaking a little too, and John was careful not to overwhelm him. He kissed him gently, slowly, reverently- licking and sucking along that plush lower lip. Sherlock gasped, pulling John up to a sitting position, so he could wrap his long arms around John and stroke down his back. He wrapped his legs around John’s waist, still straddling his lap. The new pressure against John’s crotch made him whimper, and roll his hips against Sherlock’s.

Sherlock rolled his hips back, feeling them both growing hard. With growing confidence, he licked into John’s mouth, meeting his tongue and stroking it with his own. John tangled his hands into those black curls, tugging gently. Sherlock moaned into John’s mouth, which sent a stab of heat straight to his groin. The Prince ran his long fingers down to the waistband of John’s breeches, pulling his shirt out so he could slide his hands over John’s bare skin.

John reciprocated, sliding his strong hands up and down Sherlock’s long back, marvelling at the softness of the boy’s skin. He nibbled along Sherlock’s lips, working his way down the neck, sucking bruises into the creamy skin below his collarbones. Sherlock whimpered.

“John.”

“You’re so beautiful,” John murmured, feathering kisses around the hollows of the Prince’s throat.

Sherlock snorted at that, but didn’t stop rolling his hips against John’s. His breath was coming short and fast, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He tugged impatiently at John’s shirt, John obligingly pulled it over his head, and did the same to Sherlock. John licked across a pale pink nipple, tugging it gently with his teeth. Sherlock keened, snapping his hips hard against John, panting and sweating with need.

“I want...John...please-”

John clamped his teeth against Sherlock’s earlobe, rutting hard against the boy. He ran his nails down that pale back, slipped under the waistband of Sherlock’s breeches and squeezed that plush bottom. Sherlock moaned, too far gone to articulate anything but garbled sounds and whimpers of “please please please...”

John pinched the soft skin beneath his fingers, then moved further down. Circling Sherlock’s hole with his finger elicited a sharp gasp and a whimper, when John gently pressed against it, Sherlock gave a choking cry. John felt Sherlock jerkily pulsing against him, and at the first touch of that wetness John lost it, grinding against the boy as he too came undone.

The two boys stayed where they were, both breathing heavily. John didn’t know what to say. Had he taken advantage of Sherlock? What were they going to do now? Finally Sherlock shifted off John’s lap, and lay back on the grass.

“Well that explains a lot” Sherlock said, sounding thoughtful.

“Um...what?”

Sherlock rolled to face him. He was smiling.

“Why I wasn’t interested in the women Mother kept bringing to the castle of course. Do keep up John. It all makes sense now!”

The roiling sensation in John’s belly instantly quieted.

“So, this was okay, then?”

“Of course! A bit messy though. We’ll have to take our clothes off next time.”

John looked into Sherlock’s face, seeing the vulnerability he was trying to hide with his breezy tone.

“Yes Sherlock, it was good for me too. Would I like to do this again? Why yes, thanks for asking!” John replied in a teasing tone.

Sherlock blushed, and flicked a leaf at John. Grinning back, John glanced down at his now ruined breeches.

“Come on, I’ve got some spare clothes inside. If we rinse and hang out your breeches they should be dry before you get back.”

Sherlock looked unconcerned, then frowned suddenly.

“Yes, best to keep it from Mycroft. I don’t want him anywhere near you.”

“He doesn’t scare me” John said. “But I don’t want to make trouble for you.”

Sherlock grinned mischievously. “Yes you do! Trouble is fun! You thrive on trouble.”

John laughed. “Just because I punched Lord Git in the face doesn’t mean I do it to everyone! I’d be out of a job.”

“I’d make it your job! Royal face-puncher or something.”

John chuckled. “Come on you, let’s go inside and take our clothes off.” He stopped, face red. “Uh, I mean...”

Sherlock stood up, reaching out a hand to John.

“I think that sounds like a plan,” he said, pulling off his tunic and striding towards the open door.

Sherlock looked back over his shoulder, all angles and pale skin. John could see the marks his fingers and lips had left. He took in a slow breath, feeling pleasant twinges from below his belt.

“Come on John,” Sherlock murmured in a low tone, deliberately swaying his hips as he sauntered through the doorway.

John didn’t know what god had decided to bless him, but he was acutely grateful. Feeling happier than he had ever been, he followed Sherlock inside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Mycroft. A new player appears.

Mycroft sat back in his chair, looking pensive. All attempts to follow Sherlock into the forest had failed. It was time for another approach. Leaning forward, he pulled a rope that connected to a bell in the servant’s quarters. Moments later Anthea appeared. Mycroft looked at her expectantly, and as usual, she anticipated his question.

“Efforts to cultivate the huntsman have proved....difficult.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“He is impervious to your persuasions?”

Anthea sighed. “It seems so, my Lord. He leaves the forest at sunset each day, bringing game to the kitchens. He has no interest in dalliance.”

Mycroft glanced out his window. It was only an hour or so left before sunset.

“Sherlock?”

“He arrived a few hours ago, and is currently in his experiment room.”

“Bring the huntsman to me when he arrives” Mycroft ordered, pouring himself a cup of tea.

***

John arrived in the palace kitchen, a brace of pheasants slung over his shoulder, and a dozen rabbits in his hunting bag. Mrs Hudson received him with pleasure, pushing a cup of tea and a biscuit into his hands. John had finished both, when a servant came into the kitchen, heading for him. John recognised her, it was Anthea again. He sighed. She kept trying to engage his interest, and he had none. He smiled to himself as the figure of Sherlock came into his mind, the look on his face as he had come undone.

“John? Come with me, please.”

Her tone was brisk and businesslike. John stood.

“Come where?” he asked suspiciously.

If this was another attempt to get him into a dark corner, he was leaving.

“Mycroft wishes to see you. At once.”

The women turned and John followed her into a hallway, up a staircase and into another hallway. John was wondering what Mycroft wanted with him exactly. Had he figured out he was spending time with Sherlock? His hands clenched. Mycroft may be above him in the servant hierarchy, but there was no way John was giving up Sherlock.

Finally they arrived at a door. Anthea knocked.

“John is here to see you, my Lord.”

She opened the door, and John walked cautiously inside the room. A tall man sat on a chair facing the door. His ginger hair was receding, but his blue-grey eyes were sharp. John felt uneasy as those eyes focused on him.

“John. Do take a seat.”

John saw a smaller chair perched opposite Mycroft’s. They appeared to be in a small sitting room. A grand set of rooms for a tutor, even a royal one. Anthea left, closing the door. John felt like he was preparing for battle.

“I’d rather stand, thanks. Why do you want to see me?”

Mycroft looked amused.

“You are the Royal Huntsman, yes? New to the position, but not the job.”

John shifted uneasily. That was the almost the same thing Sherlock had said. He hoped that Mycroft didn’t do deductions too.

“Do you have a question?” John said finally, as Mycroft kept looking at him.

“Interesting. You don’t seem the kind to make friends easily.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” John replied flatly.

“I was going to ask if you had encountered the Prince, but I can see now that you have. If you were to make a habit of it, I can see that you are well compensated.”

“Not interested.”

“I haven’t named a sum yet. I’m sure your mother and your sister could do with the extra money, no?”

John clenched his fists.

“You leave my family out of this.”

“You’re very defensive, John. Anyone would think I was asking you to murder the Prince. I only want information- nothing you’d feel uncomfortable about. I worry about Sherlock, you see.”

“Oh, I can see that” John said sarcastically. “I’m not spying for you.”

Mycroft stood, and looked John up and down.

“I hope I won’t have to threaten you.”

John smirked. “I think we’d both find that embarrassing, don’t you?”

Annoyance crossed Mycroft’s face before being replaced by his usual bland expression. His hands tightened on his cane.

“If you hurt him, they will never find your body.”

John blinked, taken aback.

“I feel like that should have been my line. All right then.”

Mycroft motioned with his cane towards the door.

“You may leave.”

Giving Mycroft a bewildered look, John made his way out. Anthea was waiting for him, and she escorted him down to the kitchens. John tried not to think about the fact that he was in the same vicinity as Sherlock. They had both agreed that the forest was safest place for them to meet. At least John would have something interesting to tell Sherlock tomorrow.

***

Weeks at the castle passed happily, and Sherlock made good on his comment to John. They did indeed try without clothes, and the result was good. Sherlock brought his scientific mind to the process and wanted to experiment with this new activity.

“You don’t need to...it’s sex, Sherlock. Making out and touching and feeling. It’s a bit hard to quantify,” John protested mildly.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and leant into the curve of John’s neck, kissing and nibbling his skin. John shuddered out a sigh, smiling.

“I don’t see you objecting John” Sherlock purred into John’s ear, dropping his voice into the low register he knew John found arousing.

John’s answering chuckle turned into a moan.

“Oh, I’m not. Experiment all you like, as long as it’s only with me.”

“It’s always been you, John” Sherlock murmured, bringing his head up to kiss John’s lips. “Even before I met you.”

John smiled, and kissed him back. It was hard at times to juggle his work with seeing Sherlock, but it was worth it. They continued to keep their relationship secret, but John suspected Mrs Hudson knew. She always seemed particularly pleased when John visited her with his game at the end of the day, giving him knowing smiles and bringing up the subject of Sherlock. John was pretty sure Mycroft knew, or suspected, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything about it yet.

Sherlock had been enjoying the Queen’s absence from Londonia- no more endless questions and stilted small talk at breakfast. He still had to endure Mycroft’s morning meetings. To Sherlock’s displeasure, Mycroft kept bringing up the fact that the Prince was well past the age when he should have been married and helping birth heirs. Sherlock tried to hide his distaste for the subject, unable to envision a marital future that didn’t feature John.

Summer continued, and Sherlock would forever associate the heat and the low buzz of cicadas with the look on John’s face as Sherlock worked his way down John’s body, kissing his sun-drenched skin.

And then the Queen returned. She wasn’t alone.

Sherlock awoke that morning with a start, to find Anthea standing beside his bed.

“Sorry to disturb you, Your Highness,” she murmured.

“You don’t look sorry,” Sherlock growled, rubbing his eyes.

“The Queen has returned, and she bids you dress and present yourself at court.”

Sherlock scowled.

“Why on earth does she feel the need on the day she returns? That’s not usual.”

Anthea curtsied, and left his room. Sherlock was tempted to go back to sleep, but the Queen’s sudden need to summon the court nagged at him. He pulled himself out of bed and dressed in a royal blue doublet and dark blue leggings. Dipping his fingers into the pitcher of water, he splashed his face and ran his hands through his curls, making them presentable. He noticed Anthea had left a tray with fresh bread and watered down wine, he partook of both, before heading for court. Something was going on, and he wanted to know what.

Sherlock entered the main hall, after being announced by the court official. A fair number of courtiers were milling about, more than Sherlock had expected. He supposed they were just as curious as he was. He noticed Mycroft, before the courtiers parted to let him approach the throne.

“Sherlock! We are pleased you have arrived.”

His mother was standing before the throne as usual, but with one large difference. A man stood next to her, his arm tucked into the crook of the Queen’s arm. He was short, with dark hair and brown eyes. Sherlock gave him a quick glance. His dress indicated nobility, and he took pride in his appearance, his hair was carefully oiled and his fingernails cut neatly and polished. He was quite a bit younger than the Queen, approaching his own age. He was staring at Sherlock. Sherlock bowed to his mother, but before he took his usual seat to the left of her throne, the Queen spoke.

“Now that our son is here, there is an announcement to be made. During my tour of the neighbouring kingdoms, I met this wonderful man, whom you all see standing before me. James, Duke of Cathair Dhá Chon. He agreed to be my consort, and we were married yesterday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cathair Dhá Chon is Irish for "stone ringfort of the two hounds". BrunetteBookworm picked it out for me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duke James is a troubling development. Sherlock, Mycroft and John meet to talk strategy.

The court broke into astonished murmurs, and Sherlock froze. That- was not at all like his mother. He wanted to find Mycroft, see what he made of it, but the Queen was already beckoning him forward. Sherlock moved towards her and was engulfed in an embrace. The Prince stiffened.

“Oh Sherlock, I’m so happy!”

She pulled back and beamed at him with her bright blue eyes, before turning him to the man who still stood beside her.

“James, this is my son, Sherlock.”

James smiled at Sherlock, like he was inviting him into a private joke. His brown eyes sparkled.

“I’m so pleased to meet you Sherlock,” he said.

His voice was smooth, with a pleasant lilt. He leant forward and grasped Sherlock’s hand, placing his own over the top. Sherlock fought an urge to pull away.

“Your mother has told me so much about you” he said brightly.

Sherlock tried to deduce the man, but he was so thrown by this turn of events that he couldn’t concentrate. James was still holding onto his hand. Sherlock tugged slightly, the man waited a beat longer, then released him.

“By your leave, your Majesty?” James said, smiling warmly at the Queen.

She smiled back, inclining her head in permission. James stepped down and began mingling with the rest of the court. Sherlock sank down on his seat beside his mother, watching dazed as James clasped hands, smiled warmly and flirted and slowly charmed the room. He noticed that Mycroft had moved back and appeared to avoiding James’ notice. For the first time, Sherlock wished for his company, his sharp mind. This made no sense!

“Do you like James, Sherlock?”

Sherlock turned to view his mother. Her cheeks were pinked, her eyes overbright. He drew breath to answer, not sure how to respond, but she continued.

“I never thought I’d find someone after your father, you know. And you are so trying at times, with no father to guide you- but I now I have James.”

It was a mark of how thrown Sherlock felt, that he found himself utilising tact.

“How long have you been...courting, mother?”

The Queen laughed. “Oh, a month or two. When you find true love, you don’t wait, my dear.”

“Don’t you think the marriage was a little fast?”

“Oh Sherlock, I knew you would react like this. You know I can never replace your father. But I love James, and he will be dear to you soon I’m sure. He was so interested to hear me talk of you, and your cleverness. He admires cleverness, so I know you will grow to love him too.”

“But-“

The Queen ignored him, and announced to the court: “We are retiring, Lords and Ladies. It was one’s wish to have you meet my husband, and we will resume court as usual, tomorrow.”

Sherlock made his escape with the rest of the court, James catching his eye and smiling as he passed. Sherlock repressed a shudder. There was something wrong with all of this. He was barely outside the great hall when Anthea approached him.

“Yes, I know- send someone for John. I’m not meeting Mycroft without him.”

Anthea raised an eyebrow. Sherlock stared back.

“I’m going to my rooms- send for me when John is ready.”

He bounded up the stairs to his rooms, heading for his bookcase. Pulling out an old bound book with “Londonia Law” embossed on the spine, he laid it on the table. He had some studying to do.

***

It was noon before Anthea came to his door. Sherlock suspected it had taken that long to find John in the forest. John was behind her, and Sherlock couldn’t help smiling idiotically at him. John grinned back, and looked around his rooms.

“These are yours? Nice.”

“I will bring luncheon to you in Mycroft’s rooms,” Anthea said, flashing them an amused glance. “You can see yourselves there.”

Sherlock’s cheeks pinked as he realised that he had John in his room, all alone, for the first time. John strode towards him, touching his arm as his smile turned to worry.

“Sherlock, what’s going on? There must be something dire if you bring me here.”

Sherlock couldn’t help touching John’s cheek in a soft caress, before getting down to business. John had the right of it, this wasn’t the time for sentiment. He treasured the soft look in John’s dark blue eyes, all the same. Quickly, he brought John up to speed with the latest events as he led the way to Mycroft’s rooms.

John whistled. “That was unexpected.”

“Indeed,” came the dry reply as they entered Mycroft’s sitting room.

The older man gave both of them a sharp look, then motioned to the two chairs set out. This time John did sit down, his body unconsciously angling towards Sherlock’s.

“Sit. I still don’t understand why you thought it important to bring the Huntsman into this.” Mycroft’s face stilled, as he continued to study both of them. “Or perhaps I do.”

Sherlock restrained himself from an eye-roll as Mycroft began to smirk. He knew that bringing John here would give it away, but recent events were more important.

“Oh do grow up, Mycroft,” he drawled, in a remarkably accurate imitation of the older man.

John grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Obviously, my Mother getting suddenly married is a bit not good, and implications of that are going to affect John. I don’t want him being ignorant. What do you know about this man?”

Mycroft frowned. “Less than I’d like. I’ve started the process of gathering more information immediately, but what we currently know is sparse. Duke James is a noble of Cathair Dhá Chon, which was the first kingdom the Queen visited. Word from her maidservant is that James appeared to gain her interest immediately, and he was invited to travel with her on her tour of the other kingdoms. The day before they were due to return here, they were married. All I know of James at this current time is that he is the youngest of old nobility, he’s rich, and a widow.”

John listened to this quietly, and Sherlock could see him filing the information away in his head. He didn’t appear cowed by Mycroft’s presence, or ill at-ease in the room. Sherlock was suddenly filled with pride for him, and had to look away before his face betrayed him further to Mycroft.

Anthea arrived with food, setting it down on a table in front of them. She then sat in a corner of the room, busying herself with needlework. Sherlock admired her technique- most people thought women heard nothing while sewing, and didn’t bother to guard their tongues in her presence. He knew better.

His thoughts jumped back to the subject at hand. Sherlock sighed in frustration, picking up a cup of tea.

“It just makes no sense! My Mother has always been ruthless and practical. While she can be sentimental, she would never do something so impulsive. I mean, he’s only a bit older than me! I don’t understand why she is acting this way.”

Mycroft picked up his own cup of tea and sipped it calmly.

“The obvious explanation of course, is a love spell.”

Sherlock spat out his tea, and would’ve dropped the cup if John hadn’t grabbed it and set it down for him.

“What?! Don’t be absurd!”

Mycroft looked amused.

“Magic exists, Sherlock. It isn’t used or even acknowledged much in Londonia, but that doesn’t stop it from existing.”

“But that’s just fairy tales! I suppose there’s a magic mirror too!” Sherlock sneered.

“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility” Mycroft answered calmly.

Sherlock glanced at John, who didn’t look surprised.

“John?”

John gave him a sympathetic look.

“I know this seems all very unscientific. But I have heard of magic. Low-level stuff though, nothing like what Mycroft is speaking of.”

Sherlock sipped some tea, trying to regain his composure. If both Mycroft and John admitted the existence of magic, there must be something of the sort.

“Well then. Surely there’s ways of proving it? If it exists. How did he do the spell in the first place? How do we take it off?”

“And surely there’s some sort of law about using magic to coerce people?” John suggested.

Mycroft answered before Sherlock could.

“In other kingdoms, yes. But I’m afraid that Londonia barely admits the existence of magic, let alone form any laws about it.”

He exchanged glances with Sherlock.

“We can certainly look into the method in which he affected the Queen, but those sorts of spells are hard to dispel. The more important question, is why. What is his motivation- what is he looking to gain?”

“The throne, obviously.”

John looked protectively at Sherlock. Mycroft noticed, and smirked. Sherlock sighed.

“He’d have to kill both myself and Mother- and there’s still the law forbidding the consort from ruling- so I’m not sure how he plans to get past that.”

Mycroft frowned. “The Queen has the power to change the law, and she would do anything he asked under that spell. He could then kill the Queen and take guardianship of you before you come of age. Easy enough to arrange an accident for you after that.”

John clenched his fists. “He’s not killing anyone. Why can’t he just go hunting and have his own accident? No one’s a better shot with a bow than me.”

“You’re not going anywhere near that man John!” Sherlock replied sharply.

Mycroft hid another smirk behind his teacup.

“Why not? If he plans to kill you, then we should kill him first! I’m not defenceless you know!”

“Better to see what we can do within the law first, John,” Mycroft spoke persuasively. “At this point in time we are only speculating. Best to discover what he intends before we make our move.”

He frowned. “I’m endeavouring to keep out of sight- Duke James will most likely try and disrupt any support systems you have, and it’s easier to work when he isn’t aware of my...abilities.”

“More an actual tutor and less a royal spymaster then,” John quipped.

Mycroft smiled faintly. “Indeed.” He turned to Sherlock. “I think it best that you go about as normal, but try to take opportunities to learn more about Duke James and spend time with him. It’s unlikely he’s going to try anything...permanent while he’s still settling in and winning over the court. Try not to antagonise the Queen- she won’t respond to reason and challenging the Duke will not end well for you.”

“What can I do?” John asked.

“Be watchful. Continue to keep your relationship with Sherlock a secret. Report to us if something out of the ordinary happens.”

John rolled his eyes. “So nothing I wasn’t already doing, then.”

Sherlock stood, brushing a weary hand over his curls.

“Fine. We should disperse before the servants notice.”

John followed suit, and Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, and Mycroft’s eyebrow’s shot up.

The Prince touched John on the hand, a brief caress, then left quickly. John already saw that inward look in his eyes- Sherlock had a new puzzle, and he was already engaged. He lingered at the doorframe, knowing it was best to leave apart from Sherlock.

“John?”

The boy looked back. Mycroft was still in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Look after him, won’t you. I...worry about him.”

This time John believed him.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon checking on his experiments in the store room, and checking out Duke James’ entourage. He appeared to have brought only a few servants with him. A woman with long dark hair and striking eyes strolled down to the kitchen, introducing herself as Irene. She appeared to be there collecting a tray for the Queen’s rooms. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, eating some biscuits Mrs Hudson had pressed on him. Irene gave a long cool look, meeting his eyes boldly. She reminded him a little of Mycroft’s Anthea, they had the same air of ruthlessness about them. Anthea wore hers quietly, almost escaping notice, while Irene wore hers boldly, challengingly. Mrs Hudson responded to her politely, but without her usual warmth.

Later on, a man arrived in the kitchen to collect a dinner tray, describing himself as Duke James’ valet. Sherlock heard the new voice from his storeroom (which he’d left open), and wandered out into the kitchen under the pretext of fetching a drink. Glancing at the new man, who had introduced himself as Moran, Sherlock barely kept himself from snorting. A valet, indeed. He was tall, as tall as Sherlock himself, but with broad shoulders and twice the body weight. Faint marks around the man’s knuckles and old bruises about his person didn’t escape Sherlock’s sharp eyes- this man was no stranger to fighting. His arms were corded with solid muscle, flexing a little as he took the tray from the table.

When Sherlock entered Moran gave him a sharp curious look with his pale grey eyes, which then widened slightly in recognition. Sherlock was careful to keep a blank face- servants were supposed to be beneath his notice, but he couldn’t stop his body tensing. This man felt dangerous. Moran didn’t attempt to speak to the Prince, but he smirked slightly as he turned to leave the kitchen, catching Sherlock’s eye. Sherlock met his smirk with a cool, disinterested look- turning the smirk to a scowl as the man left.

“Have some dinner, Sherlock,” Mrs Hudson urged fondly, placing a tray in front of him.

Sherlock made a non-committal noise but started picking at the food, his mind far away. It had hurt to forego seeing John this afternoon. But he didn’t want to draw too much attention to him. John would be infuriated to know this of course, but he was in a far more vulnerable position than Sherlock- John wasn’t protected by his station. His lips quirked into a smile as he imagined what John would say to that “You’re the one he wants to get rid of, not me!” Sherlock needed to solve this stepfather problem before it got out of hand. He decided that in the morning he would go to the Queen’s chambers, assume he was expected for her usual breakfast meeting with him. Time to see how Duke James reacted in a more personal setting, he may feel comfortable enough to let something slip.

***

Sherlock woke himself early the next morning, donned a loose tunic and pants meant for lounging indoors and went down to the kitchen to inform Mrs Hudson that a breakfast tray would be needed for him, the Queen and Duke James. That done, he proceeded to the Queen’s wing of the castle, and knocked on her door. It opened to reveal Irene standing before him, dressed in an outfit that clung closely to her curves. She looked knowingly up at him through her long eyelashes.

“Your Royal Highness,” she purred. “What a surprise.”

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest, and running it down to his waist. Sherlock grabbed her hand as it started to drop lower.

“There is a breakfast tray you need to collect,” he said crisply.

Irene smiled. “Do I make you uncomfortable, my Lord?”

Sherlock ignored her attempt to bait him.

“Announce me. I’ve come to take breakfast with my Mother.”

Her eyes flicked over his face. “Interesting,” she murmured, but she turned around and Sherlock heard her announce him to the room.

She strutted past him as he entered the room, eyes taking in any changes. He couldn’t see anything different, the sitting room was much the same, with its cream furnishings and mahogany wood tones. The table where he took breakfast was currently occupied by Duke James, who was writing down something. He put down his quill and turned the papers over, standing as Sherlock moved towards him, smiling brightly. Sherlock met him with a warm smile of his own. He couldn’t play stupid since his Mother had told James about him, so he decided to play the sheltered Prince instead. His eyes widened, his mouth turned up slightly, and his face showed a rueful expression.

“I’m so sorry if I’m intruding Your Grace!” he said, clasping James’ hand in greeting. “When Mother is home I usually take breakfast with her, and I’m afraid I didn’t stop to think.”

He gazed at the Duke, trying to deduce him. The man was dressed in simply cut, comfortable clothes in a similar to Sherlock’s own. The rich dark red trimming brought out his brown eyes, which appeared warm and welcoming. James’ hands were soft like a noble’s, but callused in places, and his grip stronger than expected. This man was no stranger to swordplay. The smaller details that most people had weren’t noticeable to Sherlock’s eyes however, which was disconcerting. This didn’t usually happen.

James’ eye were flickering over Sherlock in much the same way, as he continued to smile and clasp Sherlock’s hand. He finally stepped back, and motioned to the table.

“Please Sherlock, so take a seat and join us. I imagine it must be strange suddenly having a father again.”

He sat back down and Sherlock followed, sitting opposite him.

“Thank you. Yes, having a stepfather does feel rather sudden. So Mother is joining us?”

James’ eyelids flickered as he noticed the correction, but didn’t comment on it.

“Yes of course. She slept in a little, you know how it is.”

Sherlock swallowed down his distaste at the thought, and James laughed.

“I’m just teasing, Sherlock, you’re rather sensitive, aren’t you?”

“Good morning Sherlock!”

The Queen entered the sitting room, coming to sit by James. She leant across to kiss him on the lips. James warmly reciprocated, shooting a sly look at Sherlock, who was working on keeping his face free of distaste.

“Good morning Mother,” Sherlock said quietly.

“What brings you here?”

“We usually take breakfast together when you’re in residence, remember?”

The Queen giggled. She actually giggled. Sherlock wasn’t sure how long he could have no reaction to this.

“Oh Sherlock, now that James is here...well I’ll be _busy_ in the mornings.”

Sherlock choked on his mouthful of tea, covering it up with a fit of coughing. James slid him a napkin, not bothering to hide a smirk.

“So tell me son,” he began in a soft lilt. “About these experiments of yours. I’ve been hearing interesting things. What are you working on now?”

Sherlock debated whether to tell him anything, but decided against it. The way his Mother was acting, she would probably take offence.

“I’m currently investigating the medicinal properties of several types of local fungi,” he said shortly, plunging into what he hoped was a boring description of his methods.

James listened intently, asking intelligent questions about his process, and his results so far. He still had that unsettling glint in his eye while he watched Sherlock’s face.

“Well, you are clever, aren’t you? No wonder you get bored so easily,” James commented, spreading some jam on his toast and taking a bite.

Sherlock shrugged. “My experiments pass the time.”

He certainly wasn’t going to mention that his days were no longer boring, thanks to John. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of John being the focus of James’ unsettling attention.

“Still, we should find some other ways to amuse you,” James replied, turning to the Queen. “Shouldn’t we, love?”

The Queen hummed happily. “Whatever you’d like dear.”

Sherlock stood.

“Thank you for having me, I have other duties to attend to.”

The Queen smiled vaguely. “Very well.”

James stood and followed Sherlock to the door.

“It was lovely spending time with you, son. I’ll see if I can’t find a way to engage that clever mind of yours.”

The Prince nodded, and James clasped his shoulder with a bright smile. Sherlock had the sudden unsettling thought that if he peeled off that smiling face there’d be a monster underneath. He left the room, letting his legs carry him without much thought of where he was going. Somehow he ended up at Mycroft’s door. The door was open, so Sherlock walked in. Mycroft was sitting on his usual chair, with his cup of tea and toast. He took one look at Sherlock’s face, and stood.

“What’s troubling you?”

Sherlock sank into one of the other chairs without bothering to come up with a snarky reply. Mycroft’s face revealed a quick flicker of surprise as he sat back down.

“I saw James and Mother this morning.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“And?”

Sherlock ran a frustrated hand through his curls.

“And nothing! Mother is obviously under a spell, nothing else would explain her sickening behaviour. I can’t seem to deduce James beyond the surface details. Details which I’m sure he’s planned- allowed, for me to see.”

He recounted the conversation as well as his observations of Irene and Sebastian, Mycroft listening intently.

“Do you think James has ambitions beyond climbing the social scale?”

Sherlock sighed. “Yes, obviously. But the manner in which he will achieve this eludes me.”

“Continue to watch and wait, then. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

Sherlock couldn’t hold back a smirk. “You know me, Mycroft- I’m the picture of discretion.”

Mycroft ignored the jibe. “Since you’re here, we may as well begin this morning’s lesson.”

Sherlock groaned. “Really Mycroft? After all that’s going on?”

“None of which absolves you of the need to make you fit to rule” Mycroft replied. “We’ll begin with the order of succession.”

Sherlock sighed inwardly, and tried to gather his thoughts. He wondered if anything bothered Mycroft. He’d like to see that bland facade of his shaken. Sherlock poured himself a cup of tea and tried his best to listen, unaware that he’d soon regret his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit short- but I figure you'd like some kind of an update rather than none. The next chapter will be longer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff is happening. Sherlock is still new at this relationship thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been a while updating, I got stuck and starting my Masters has taken up a lot of my brain. Not long to go though, I think only a few more chapters.

The sun was beginning to set, and Sherlock loitered in his experiment room, hoping to catch John’s regular visit to the kitchen. He wouldn’t show himself of course, but hearing John’s warm voice would be enough.

“Oh Mrs Hudson, someone! Thomas is dead!”

Sherlock pricked up his ears. This sounded interesting. He put down his notes and moved to the kitchen doorway. A young girl stood in the kitchen. Her brown hair was pulled back sensibly in a ponytail, her thin lips pursed tightly in distress. She was pale, but her clean hands were steady, and her face showed no sign of tears. Sherlock took her in, and deduced that she was one of the milkmaids. Mrs Hudson left the dough she was kneading and walked to the girl, clasping her hands.

“Molly love, what’s the matter?”

Molly’s lips quivered.

“I was walking over to the barn, when I saw Thomas- he was lying on the ground!”

Sherlock strode into the kitchen, attracting the attention of the woman.

“And Thomas is...?”

“The royal gardener, your highness,” Molly replied, flushing a little under Sherlock’s gaze.

“How do you know he’s dead? Did you actually check or did you assume?“

Molly blushed again, but met Sherlock’s eyes with a spark of irritation in her eyes.

“I put my hand above his mouth, and there was no breath. His chest didn’t rise and fall. His neck is at a strange angle. He’s most definitely dead, your highness.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up. “Well this is new. Lead me to him if you please, Molly.”

Mrs Hudson frowned. “Really Sherlock, poor Molly wouldn’t want see that again!”

“What’s going on?”

The Prince started as John entered the kitchen, handing Mrs Hudson his game, which she took from him absently, her attention still on Sherlock and Molly. John caught sight of Sherlock, and his dark blue eyes widened.

“And you are?” Sherlock asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

John’s mouth twisted a little as he hid a grin.

“John your highness, the royal huntsman.”

He even performed a little bow, his eyes full of mischief. Sherlock kept his composure with no small effort.

“Well John, Molly has just informed us that the royal gardener lies dead, and I’m about to visit the scene. Maybe you would care to join us and offer your expertise?”

“Sherlock-“ Mrs Hudson started to protest again, but Molly interrupted.

“-I don’t mind! I’m happy to show his royal highness. It’s fine.”

She shot Sherlock a longing glance from under her eyelashes, which Sherlock didn’t notice. John did, and felt sorry for the girl.

“Always happy to be of service, your highness,” John replied with a smile.

The two followed Molly back out the door, trailed by some of the kitchen staff. Sherlock and John kept shooting sneaky glances at each other. Sherlock couldn’t help grinning. A death and John- this day was looking up. The sun was setting, casting shadows across the gardens and painting the flower bushes a dull shade of pink. It looked out of place on Thomas’ still face. He lay on the grass at the base of his ladder, which leant against a tree. A pair of pruning shears lay on the ground near him. Sherlock crouched by the gardener’s head.

“Did you move him at all, Molly?”

“No, your highness, he is exactly as I found him.”

The servants began to move closer to the body, but stopped at a sharp glance from the Prince. John inched forward and crouched by Sherlock, letting his knee casually brush against the Prince’s.

“I knew him. Nice old fellow, good for a chat. Poor sod.”

“Tell me what you see, John,” Sherlock said quietly.

John looked at Sherlock curiously. “What I see?”

“Look at the body, tell me what you see.”

After a querying glance, replied to by a nod from Sherlock, John leant forward and pulled down the collar of Thomas’ coat.

“Well, his neck appears broken. He’s lying at the foot of the ladder. I guess he fell off.”

Sherlock sighed.

“You see John, but you do not observe. Yes, his neck is broken. But if you see his pruning shears there, the blades are closed and the safety catch is on. If the gardener fell from the ladder while working, the pruning shears would be lying open on the ground.”

Sherlock picked up one of the man’s hands, inspecting the fingernails.

“Yes, just as I suspected. There is skin under his nails, that of his attacker, I believe.”

John’s brow wrinkled.

“But why would someone want to kill Thomas? He didn’t have enemies, he was a lovely old guy who kept to himself.”

“Why indeed,” muttered Sherlock darkly, a scowl on his face.

That scowl was repeated as Sherlock stood in the court the next day, facing the Queen and Duke James. Court had concluded for the day, only a few officials still lingered.

“His death was not an accident, your Majesty,” Sherlock continued, trying to keep his tone civil. “I have told you of the evidence I observed. Why do you not see it?”

The Queen’s lips tightened. “I have announced his death as a sad accident. I know you’re bored Sherlock, but must you try and upset things? Go play with your experiments, at least those don’t upset the servants.”

Sherlock’s jaw tensed, and he bit back the rude words he longed to say. Maybe Mycroft’s instruction had proved useful. Duke James was watching Sherlock with a slight smirk on his face.

“I will take my leave of you then,” he said tightly, sketching a quick bow, and leaving before he lost all his patience.

***    

  
“I know she’s under a spell, but has it completely robbed her of all sense?!” Sherlock ranted to Mycroft, pacing the floor of the tutor’s sitting room.

Mycroft sat in his chair, placidly sipping a cup of tea, watching Sherlock get more and more frustrated.

“A pair of closed pruning shears and some skin under the man’s nails is hardly enough evidence for the Queen to do something, you know that Sherlock.”

“But I know James is involved somehow. I just can’t see why. Why is he doing it?”

Mycroft shrugged elegantly.

“I agree with you Sherlock, but there’s nothing we can do at present except gather information and keep a watch on him. Will you be joining me for dinner? I can have Anthea bring up a tray.”

At that moment, the door to the room swung open, and Anthea stumbled across the threshold. Her dress was torn, her face bruised. Mycroft’s face blanched, and he put down his tea, rising to his feet and taking Anthea’s arm to steady her way to the couch.

“Report!” he said sharply, his eyes snapping with anger.

Sherlock stopped pacing, but wasn’t quite sure how to help. What would John do? What if it had been John instead of Anthea? He sat down abruptly, trying to banish the image of John’s bruised face from his mind. Anthea drew in a shuddering breath, touching a shaking hand to her throat as if to reassure herself.

“I didn’t get a good look at him,” she croaked. “He came from behind. I was in one of the lower storerooms collecting some candles when the torches behind me went out. It was dark and he took me by surprise. He was tall, with large strong hands. Got his hands around my neck- but I jammed one of the candles back into his groin and it surprised him enough for me to get away. I ran straight here.”

Mycroft patted Anthea’s hand awkwardly, the fond gesture at odds with his sharp, angry eyes.

“Stay here and rest. I’ll organise for someone to accompany you from now on- I don’t want you wandering the castle alone.”

Anthea made a face, then sighed as she saw the look in Mycroft’s eyes.

“Very well.”

“Duke James is raising the stakes, wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock remarked quietly. “I’ll wager that his ‘valet’ has other, more physical talents.”

Mycroft made a cup of tea for Anthea, then raised his own to his lips with a trembling hand. Sherlock noted idly that he wasn’t the only one with a temper.

“Take care not be alone Sherlock,” Mycroft replied stiffly. “Your huntsman may prove himself useful after all.”

***

“Just tell him I’m busy, Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock snapped, as the cook pestered him about John. “I don’t have time!”

Sherlock’s decision to avoid John for his own safety was not sitting well with the cook. The fact that Sherlock hadn’t shared this reason with her may have contributed to that. Sherlock couldn’t get the image of Anthea’s face out of his head, not when he kept replacing it with John’s. He was too precious to risk. John would understand.

The next few months were immensely frustrating and perplexing for Sherlock. The deaths in the castle continued. The Queen’s favourite lady-in-waiting was found at the foot of a staircase with a broken neck. One of the stable boys was found trampled to death in the stall of a particularly touchy stallion. A wood cutter was found floating in the fish pond, an empty mead bottle lying on the grass nearby. A dairy maid disappeared. Sherlock deduced every one of them to be a murder, but no one believed him. Well, Mycroft believed him. John would believe him, if Sherlock actually visited him. It bothered Sherlock that he couldn’t see any pattern to the deaths. If Duke James was behind them, what was his purpose? Take their attention away from watching him? That wasn’t going to work.

It hurt not being around John, but he didn’t know what else to do. Mycroft wanted him to keep John around, but he didn’t care about John’s safety, just Sherlock’s. He continued pacing his room, tugging at his curls. There must be something he hadn’t seen.

The door banged open, and John stood in the doorway, breathing hard. His eyes were narrowed, his nostrils flaring. He stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. Sherlock froze.

“John you can’t be here, I-“

John stalked towards the Prince, fists clenched. Before Sherlock could react, John swept his legs out from under him, and Sherlock crashed to the floor. John sat on him, straddling Sherlock’s waist. He planted a hand either side of Sherlock’s head and leaned in close.

“Shut up. Just shut up. You have no idea how worried I’ve been. The way you’ve been avoiding me, I thought you were having second thoughts. That with all that’s going on, it was getting too hard for a Prince to be with someone like me.”

“But I don’t-“

“No, I said shut up. Then I thought about it. You’re trying to keep me out of the way, aren’t you?”

Sherlock had been about to protest again, faltered.

“I-“

“No, that’s it, isn’t it? You’re trying to _protect me_ ,” John spat out the phrase like it had a sour taste.

Sherlock raised a hand to John’s face, touching his cheek.

“I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. I just couldn’t, John. I don’t want James even looking at you. All these deaths...every time I think about you being in that position I can’t think.”

John’s eyes softened.

“I know, love.”

He took Sherlock’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and gently, but firmly, pinned it to the floor.

“But you listen to me. Protecting you is my job. Mine. You don’t get to decide these things for me. I can protect myself. Keeping me away from you is what will kill me, Sherlock. If something happened to you and I wasn’t there...I couldn’t bear it. Don’t you dare make those decisions for me. Understand?”

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed. “You called me love.”

John chuckled. “Because you are, you idiot. All right?”

Sherlock wiggled his hips, and John let out a sharp breath.

“Hmm...I’m not sure I’m quite all right John. There are...things that need seeing to.”

He gave John a wicked smile, and John could feel that Sherlock did indeed need something seen to. He gave Sherlock a heated glance, and rolled his hips against the Prince.

“I think I might be able to do something about that.”

John leaned down and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, running his tongue under his top lip, biting it gently. Sherlock moaned, tried to move his hands but John kept them pinned as he explored Sherlock’s mouth. The Prince bucked his hips, rubbing his hard erection against John’s. John started nibbling and sucking his way down Sherlock’s neck.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Sherlock gasped. “Take them off.”

John laughed. “So are you.”

He hopped off Sherlock and quickly divested himself of his garments, before turning his attention back to Sherlock, who had stripped just as quickly. He still lay on his back, looking up at John expectantly.

John ran his gaze slowly up and down Sherlock’s body, appreciating the milky pale skin and the hard length of him, throbbing with need.

“John,” Sherlock whined.

John smiled, and knelt to run his hands slowly over Sherlock’s body. His rough callused hands circled Sherlock’s ankles, moved up his calves, stroked over his thighs, teasingly skirted around his groin and over his stomach.

Sherlock wriggled and sighed, murmuring in protest as John skated past his groin. Finally John cupped his face, running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and kneading his scalp.

“John please,” Sherlock pleaded, pulling John down on top of him.

They both hummed with pleasure at the feeling of their bare skin lying against each other, their erections pressed against their stomachs.

“You feel so good John,” Sherlock murmured. “I missed you.”

John swallowed his snarky response as he heard the aching need in the boy’s voice. Sherlock had hurt him, but he had never stopped loving him. He bent his head, licking and sucking his way down Sherlock’s pale chest, moving his body down until his face hovered above Sherlock’s erection. Smiling wickedly, he took the tip into his mouth.

“Oh!” came a strangled yelp from further up. “I...oh!”

John swept his tongue around the tip, sucked on it a little, and took Sherlock’s cock into his mouth even further. Sherlock moaned and shivered, clenching his hands. John wrapped a firm hand around the base and started timing the stroke upwards of his hand with his mouth bobbing downwards on Sherlock’s cock. John could taste the salty pre-cum on his tongue as Sherlock gasped and writhed. He couldn’t stop bucking his hips, but John pressed firmly on Sherlock’s stomach with his other hand, producing even more incoherent noises from the boy. John sucked hard, going down until he could feel Sherlock’s cock nudging the back of his throat. He swallowed convulsively, and Sherlock cried out-

“-John!”

John slid his hand under Sherlock’s plush bottom and gave it a pinch, moaned against Sherlock’s cock and gave it a long suck, and Sherlock was coming, all incoherent cries and rapid breathing and John swallowed, licking his way up and off with a pop.

Sherlock shivered, and pulled John up onto him, all legs and arms. John’s erection pushed against Sherlock’s thigh, and Sherlock grinned.

“My turn.”

He rolled John onto his back, and made his way down John’s body, gazing up at the huntsman through his long inky eyelashes as he licked and sucked across John’s stomach. John groaned.

“Don’t draw it out, I want you so badly.”

Sherlock chuckled and took hold of John’s cock, which by now looked painfully hard. He started stroking it, long firm strokes as his other hand caressed John’s bottom.

“Do you know how I felt when you walked through that door John? You looked so angry. I was scared but so turned on at the same time. And then you knocked me to the floor and pinned my hands and I could feel my cock swelling in your presence.”

“God, Sherlock,” John moaned. “Your voice is so bloody hot.”

“I wanted you to take me on the floor right then and there. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Sherlock placed his soft, cupid’s bow lips around John’s cock and took nearly all of John’s length in one go. John’s back arched against the floor and he cried out with pleasure.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock licked and sucked, moaning vibrations as he made sure to cover every inch of John’s cock with his tongue. His hand moved from John’s bottom and his fingers pressed gently along John’s perineum.

John cried out as he pulsed down Sherlock’s throat, writhing as Sherlock kept sucking until John tapped his shoulder, pulling Sherlock up to lie on top of him. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and held him close, kissing the side of his neck gently.

“Mine.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight and things are heating up. Mycroft ponders events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the home stretch now guys! We're going to have a few short chapters as we build to the conclusion. I'm on holidays, so I'm planning to update more often, don't worry!

Mycroft sat ensconced in his armchair, sipping tea and pondering. He ran through the series of events over again, trying to see a clear way out of the current predicament. Should he have sent someone with the Queen, stopping her from falling under James’ spell? Should he arrange for someone to assassinate James? Or had James anticipated this, and already had a plan in place to discredit him and ensure his death?

Mycroft sighed, stood up and leant against the window, looking out over the gardens. They were bathed in a soft red glow that darkened as the sun began to dip below the horizon. He moved to light the candles around the room as he thought.

Mycroft hadn’t expected to like the Queen. She had surprised him, writing him that letter. At first he had been suspicious. Surely no woman would want to have the evidence of her husband’s affair dangled in front of her. He suspected her of wanting to make sure he was taken out of the line of succession. Two days were spent thinking it over, but Mycroft couldn’t resist the offer. He was so bored where he was, suffering under a father who knew he wasn’t and surrounded by brothers and sisters severely lacking in intellect. He would never be able to rise to anything in his position, his “father” would make sure of that- once his mother had died of fever there was no one on his side.

The day he arrived at the castle, The Queen had sent for him to take tea in her private sitting room. Mycroft eyed her warily, his face carefully blank.

“I expect you are wondering why I invited you here,” the Queen commented, smiling slightly.

“To tutor your son, Sherlock. I believe that was what you said in the letter, your Majesty,” Mycroft replied, his tone neutral.

The Queen poured the tea.

“Yes, that is one reason. The other, is that I want you to spend time with your brother.”

Mycroft very carefully did not drop his tea, and he was pleased to see his hands remained steady.

“I see we are being ‘honest’ with each other then.”

“You don’t seem well acquainted with the term,” the Queen observed, a twinkle in her eye.

Mycroft didn’t reply, unsure of how to proceed. The Queen leant forward, covered his hand with hers and caught his gaze. Her silvery blue eyes held him fast, and she let him see the full force of her personality and will behind those eyes.

“Let me speak plainly. I do not wish you harm, Mycroft. On the contrary, Sherlock needs all the knowledge and wisdom you can teach him. Currently he is unfit for the throne and I am at my wit’s end with him. I do not hold my husband’s sins against you. I am pleased that Sherlock has someone else in his family. He is lonely, though he’d never admit it. And as one grows older, the past becomes less of a burden, and more of a puzzle. I am curious about you Mycroft. I wish to know you better. Will you stay?”

Mycroft couldn’t refuse, nor did he wish to. Once a month in the afternoon, he took tea with the Queen, and talked to her about Sherlock’s progress. She talked with him about politics, and Mycroft grew to respect her skill and experience. She didn’t have his intellect of course, but she had a natural gift of manipulating people to her best advantage. Mycroft could do this too of course, but the Queen did it with such a kind air that people didn’t even notice. He quite enjoyed seeing her in action. Mycroft began using his spy network to the Queen’s advantage. She was always appreciative of his observations, and as time passed he started giving her regular updates. His days were filled with frustrating Sherlock, politics and his spy network- he couldn’t remember the last time he had been bored.

Mycroft’s mouth pulled into a frown, his forehead wrinkling. He walked the length of the room. He walked it again. Walked, not paced. He wasn’t pacing.

Seeing the Queen so unlike herself was an annoyance. It was unpleasant to see her personality subsumed by this ridiculous spell. Why hadn’t he seen this? Mycroft knew that Londonia’s unfamiliarity with magic was a major weakness, but he thought he had more time to fix it. What did James want? He seemed content planning his murders of the castle staff at present. Mycroft’s stomach tightened as he remembered how Anthea had looked, walking through his door bruised and vulnerable. He’d never seen her look scared before. He didn’t care for it. She had been his first recruit to his network, and a loyal assistant.

Shaking his head, Mycroft sat down again. His tea was cold. About to pour himself a new cup, he paused as he heard a knock. Too late in the evening for the usual suspects. He gathered himself and opened the door to see Irene standing there. She was dressed in a figure hugging dress, with her long dark hair gathered in a chignon that exposed the length of her slender, pale neck. Irene peered up at him, smiling seductively.

“Good evening, my Lord. Might I come in?”

Mycroft regretted opening the door.

“No, you may not.”

He stepped back to shut the door, and Irene followed him in, stepping over the threshold as Mycroft moved back from her. Irene smiled.

“I wasn’t aware that I made you so uncomfortable. Why is that, I wonder?”

Gritting his teeth, Mycroft stook his ground. Irene was every bit as annoying as Sherlock had described. Darting forward suddenly, Irene grabbed his arms and pulled him against her as she pressed her mouth to his. Mycroft made an outraged noise, trying to pull back from her grasp. Irene hooked his legs out from under him and he crashed backwards to the floor. Irene straddled him, and looked down at his enraged expression.

“Time for a rest my Lord. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure your student is well taken care of.”

Mycroft blinked his eyes as she started swimming out of focus. He felt detached from his body, and so sleepy. He brought clumsy fingers to his lips, and glared at Irene.

“A sleeping ointment on your lips? How...you bi-“

“Night night!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying the read, please leave some kudos, or a comment if you're feeling like being awesome. :-)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has an unfortunate encounter.

As the sun set, John made his way back to the castle, loaded down with rabbits and pheasant. Mrs Hudson will be pleased with him. He tramped into the kitchen, to find Mrs Hudson at work, chopping vegetables ready for tomorrow’s soup.

“Oh lovely!” she exclaimed, turning at John’s cheery hello. “Just what I needed for tomorrow’s lunch!”

She took the rabbits first, and went into the coolroom to store them. John hung around, waiting for his customary cup of tea and hoping for a quick glimpse of Sherlock. He felt a tug on his sleeve, and looked down to see a small boy.

“Sir, I have a message from the Prince- he bids you go to his rooms,” the little boy said earnestly.

John smiled. “I’d better go right away then.”

He left the pheasants on one of the workbenches, and hurried along the hallway and upstairs. He grinned to himself. Sneaky Sherlock, using a messenger. A bit risky, but he doubted anyone would think to ask the boy where he was. Mrs Hudson would just assume he had left for home. John’s grin turned anticipatory as he imagined the welcome he would give the Prince.

He reached the room and knocked on the door once before opening it and stepping inside.

“Sherlock, I-“

He had time to notice that Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, before sudden, intense pain erupted across the back of his head, sending him falling to the floor. John’s vision went blurry, and a wave of nausea swept through him as he struggled to his knees. He was pushed back to the floor again as a heavy weight pressed him into the ground. John swore as his wrists were grabbed in large hands and wrenched behind his back.

“Wha- get off me!”

 He wriggled, trying to shift the man on top of him. A knee pressed into the small of his back as his wrists were tied tightly together.

“Where’s Sherlock- what have you done with him!”

The man didn’t answer, but grasped John’s shoulders and rolled him roughly over. John’s vision was still blurry, but he was pretty sure he was looking into the face of James’ ‘valet’, Sebastian. The man smiled, unpleasantly, bringing his face close to John’s. The younger man grimaced as he caught the foul odour of Sebastian’s breath.

“I’d be worryin bout yerself, Huntsman. You ain’t seein yer Prince no more.”

John whipped his head forward and headbutted the older man, his forehead connecting sharply with Sebastian’s nose. There was a satisfying crunch. The older man swore, leaning back, and John brought his leg up and across, kicking him in the side and knocking him over. He rolled to his knees and managed to stand up, swaying as splinters of pain stabbed through his head and his vision blurred. He managed to take a couple of steps to the door before a hand grabbed his ankle and yanked, sending him to the floor. This time he didn’t have his arms free to break his fall and he landed heavily, twisting to take the impact on his shoulder. John gasped in agony as his shoulder made a terrible noise, followed by another wave of intense pain. He thought he might have dislocated it. It hurt too much to move, and he let out a choked whimper as Sebastian kicked him in the stomach.

The older man hauled him to his feet and slammed him down on a chair. John felt a rope pull each of his ankles to the chair legs, followed by another securing his waist to the chair. He wondered why Sebastian had lured him up here instead of killing him. Where was Sherlock? John feared for him. He strained against the ropes, swearing at Sebastian, who was mopping at his bloody nose. Sebastian gave him a nasty look.

“Don’t tempt me. Rather just knock you off meself, but me Master decides when.”

“Does he tell you when to take a shit too?” John sneered.

Sebastian moved closer and backhanded John across the face, snapping his head back and sending out new stabs of pain. John spat in the older man’s face.

“Fuck you!”

Sebastian growled, and grabbed John’s neck in his large hand. Slowly, he began to squeeze. John struggled, fighting for breath. He couldn’t get his eyes to focus. The sound of Sebastian’s heavy breathing followed John into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so close to finishing, not much longer to wait now...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The action keeps coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this to go. Warning you now, this ends on another cliffhanger.

Sherlock looked up from the garden he was collecting fungus spores in, irritated. He hadn’t noticed it getting dark. Chiding himself, he picked up his basket and headed back to the kitchen, hoping he hadn’t missed seeing John. The path from the castle gardens to the castle kitchen was uneven, and Sherlock stepped carefully in the burgeoning gloom, eyes on his feet. Too late he registered someone on the path, and bumped into them, dropping his basket.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Irene purred.

Sherlock scowled.

“Get out of the way, I’m in a hurry.”

“To see your Huntsman?”

Sherlock wasn’t sure how much of his face Irene could see in the near dark, but he endeavoured to keep it free of expression.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied.

Irene chuckled.

“Oh you’re so obvious, it’s sweet. I’m afraid you won’t find him in the kitchen.”

Sherlock’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“What do you mean?”

Irene turned and sauntered away, saying nothing. Sherlock debated going after her, or going to find John. She had probably just been teasing him. Surely. His mind helpfully provided him with images of John being hurt by Sebastian, being attacked like Anthea had been. Sherlock started running.

He burst into the kitchen to find Mrs Hudson plucking pheasants. John had been here then. He glanced around, saw no empty mug of tea that John usually left. Not a good sign.

“You’ve just missed John I’m afraid,” Mrs Hudson said. “He left before having his tea.”

Sherlock made a non-committal noise as his mind raced. Best to check John’s hut next. He ran to his experiment room, grabbed a lantern from his workbench and lit it, moving back through the kitchen.

“Sherlock, what you doing?” Mrs Hudson scolded. “It’s too dark to go anywhere!”

“I’m going...to the forest, I need to check something,” Sherlock mumbled, his mind already on his destination.

He strode out of the castle and headed for the path to John’s hut. The lantern’s dim light combined with his own memory of treading the path many times, kept him on the track. Sherlock’s mind was in a panic. He couldn’t stop thinking about John in danger- what if he was too late? What if John wasn’t even there? He stumbled over a low lying bush and just managed to catch the lantern before it hit the ground. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, collecting in his dark curls. As he neared the clearing, he saw a light. Breaking through the tree line, he saw John’s hut. The outside torches were lit, bathing the clearing in a dull yellow light.

“John!” Sherlock called, voice cracking.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” came a soft lilt, and Duke James strolled out of the doorway to stand in the clearing.

He was wearing his formal court clothes, a dark green tunic and leggings with polished black boots. In his belt was a large silver-backed mirror with a handle, in his hand a red apple. Sherlock put down the lantern, and clenched his fists.

“Where’s John?” he demanded.

“He’s fine for now Sherlock. I thought we needed to talk, you and I.”

James polished the apple on his thigh absently, as he started to circle the Prince.

“I know you’ve been dreadfully bored, forced to exist with all these ordinary people. I know how that feels, Sherlock. Aren’t you glad Daddy arranged some little games for you?”

“The murders,” Sherlock said tonelessly, trying to figure out what to do.

Demanding to see John wouldn’t get him anywhere. He decided to play along for now, trying to ignore the hair standing up on the back of his neck and the adrenalin pulsing through his body demanding that he run away as fast as he could.

“Did you like them? You did very well, solving them so quickly, Daddy’s impressed.”

Sherlock grimaced, as James moved closer.

“People died.”

James’ face twisted in sudden rage, his black eyes burning with an inner light.

“That’s what people DO!”

All the hair on Sherlock’s body tried to stand up at once. Forcing a neutral tone, he asked:

“What is it you want? I assume you want to rule.”

James chuckled, his mood changing abruptly.

“Well yes- honey you should see me in a crown! And you still may, if you accept my proposition.”

“Which is?”

“Oh Sherlock, haven’t you figured it out by now? You solved all my little puzzles. Rule with me.”

Sherlock blinked several times, as his brain sought to catch up.

“What?”

“I know it’s all a little sudden, but I had to see if you were interesting enough to keep around.”

James reached forward and touched Sherlock’s cheek. The young Prince flinched back.

“And what would happen to my Mother?”

James sighed. “I’m afraid she’s become rather boring. I can arrange for a quick death if you’d prefer, a nice accident. She’s just getting in the way of your full potential Sherlock.”

Sherlock glared at him, the anger rushing up his spine was a welcome heat.

“No.”

“Don’t disappoint me, Sherlock,” James said softly in a sing-song tone. “Don’t be...ordinary, like her. Think about it. You won’t receive a better offer.”

Sherlock grabbed the front of James’ tunic, wrenched him around and slammed him into a nearby tree. James’ eyes lit up, and he giggled.

“I’m NOT accepting your offer, and I want to know where John is, right now, or I will kill you!”

James continued to chuckle, as he pulled the mirror out of his belt and murmured a soft string of unfamiliar words.

“See for yourself then, little Prince. But behave yourself, or your precious Huntsman will be the first to die.”

He turned the mirror’s face to Sherlock, who watched as his reflection swirled, then became a bedroom scene. His bedroom. He stepped back from James.

“What-“

The picture moved until it was focused on a chair. A chair with John in it. He was tied tightly to it, his arms behind his back. His face was bloody, and he favoured his right shoulder, twisting a little in the chair. Sherlock let out a strangled sound, aborting his movement towards the mirror. The picture tilted again, and Sherlock saw the smug face of Sebastian. He moved over to John, and put the mirror in front of his face.

“Say hello Sherlock,” James sing-songed.

“John!” Sherlock choked out.

John’s face twisted in pain as Sebastian gripped his hurt shoulder.

“Sherlock- don’t worry I’m fine,” he gasped.

Sebastian moved behind John, and Sherlock saw a knife in his hand.

“Thank you Sebby, stand by,” James said cheerfully.

He muttered some more words, and the scene in the mirror changed to a different room. A sitting room, and Sherlock saw Mycroft lying on the floor tied up and gagged. His eyes were furious, and widened as they spotted Sherlock. The picture went dark, and James grinned at the shell-shocked look on the Prince’s face. He turned, and backed Sherlock up against the same tree, leaning in close.

“Since you’re not accepting my proposition Sherlock, I’m afraid we come to the final problem. I went to a lot of trouble for you, more than I’ve bothered to with anyone. You wasted my time little Prince. So disappointing. You owe me, a death.”

Sherlock couldn’t think. All he could see was John, bloody and hurting, trying to be brave for him. Mycroft, helpless. James’ hands were twisted in his tunic, pressing him against the rough bark of the tree. He wanted to lash out, to kick and hurt, but what if they took it out on John? He tried to focus on James, what he was saying. There had to be a way out of this.

“A death?”

James giggled.

“Your death.”

He held out the apple, waiting for Sherlock to take it. Gingerly Sherlock grasped it, examining its surface.

“Let me guess, it’s a magic apple.”

“One bite is all you need. If you don’t, I’ll have Sebby cut John’s throat.”

James raised the mirror, spoke the words, and Sherlock was looking into John’s face again. Sebastian was standing behind him, a knife at John’s throat. John looked furious.

“Bite into the apple, Sherlock,” James cooed.

“Don’t you dare do anything he says,” John snapped, stopping as Sebastian pressed the knife harder against his throat.

Sherlock’s breath was coming in short pants, he felt on the verge of tears. He couldn’t let them hurt John, or Mycroft. He looked down at the apple, then up to the mirror, tears filling his eyes.

“John, I’m sorry. I can’t let them hurt you.”

“No Sherlock don’t!”

James covered Sherlock’s hand holding the apple with his smaller one, and started gently forcing it upwards to his mouth. With his other hand, he pushed the mirror back into his belt, murmuring words to send its surface black. James moved in even closer, his body pressing Sherlock against the tree.  

“It’s just us now,” James murmured. “If I don’t check back in with Sebby and Irene, they have orders to kill them. Don’t let them down Sherlock.”

***

Anthea slipped into the kitchen, frustrated at not finding out any new information for Mycroft. Sebastian was nowhere to be found, and neither was Irene.

“Oh hello dear,” Mrs Hudson said, hands busy with some pheasants. “What a strange night we’re having. Sherlock’s gone off in the dark to look for John, I hope he’ll be alright.”

“He did what?”

“He’s looking for John,” Mrs Hudson repeated. “Such a dear boy, but not a sensible bone in his body. The forest at night is no place for him, he’ll come back with a sprained ankle- mark my words!”

Anthea considered. Go after Sherlock, or tell Mycroft? Best to let Mycroft know. She moved silently into the hallway, heading for the stairs. As she reached the second floor, she caught a glimpse of another figure disappearing around the corner. Following, Anthea saw the back of Irene going into Mycroft’s room. Anthea waited, but the door didn’t open. Why hadn’t he tossed her out? She crept up to the door and put her ear to it. Irene was speaking, but Mycroft wasn’t responding.

“Did you have a nice nap? I went to see your Prince. He was...very responsive. He’s so sweet when he’s worried about his Huntsman.”

Quietly, Anthea tried the door. Locked. If Irene had slid the bolt across, she wouldn’t be able to shift that from the outside. Anthea studied the door. Hinges however, were vulnerable. Pulling a set of tools from her dress pocket, Anthea set to work. It would make for a dramatic entrance, but Mycroft did enjoy the dramatic.

Mycroft was angry. He hadn’t anticipated that James would make such a bold move. From the quick glance he’d had through the mirror, he’d gathered that Sherlock was in the forest. Presumably where John lived, though he didn’t think he was there. Seeing Sherlock’s anguished face stirred up surprisingly strong protective feelings- if only he was in a state to carry them out. He glared at Irene, who was lounging in his armchair, regarding him with great amusement. A quiet creaking noise caught his attention, and he growled through his gag to try and cover it. He didn’t dare look at the door while Irene was gazing at him. Irene laughed, and leaned forward to pour herself a cup of tea.

Mycroft risked a glance at the door. It was shaking slightly. Suddenly it tipped inward, the bolt still holding on the left side, but making a gap on the right side large enough for Anthea to step through. Her gaze flicked to Mycroft, then to Irene, who had put down her tea.

“Not the knocking type?” Irene smirked.

She leant down to pick up Mycroft’s cane. Anthea exploded into movement, crossing the space between the door to Irene in mere moments. Irene whipped the cane up into Anthea’s face, but Anthea had already moved past it. A sharp elbow to Irene’s face met with a satisfying crunch, and Anthea grabbed the cane as Irene let out a sharp cry of pain. A controlled blow in the face with the cane, and Irene slumped to the floor, unconscious. Anthea knelt down and untied Mycroft’s gag, before attending to his wrists.

“Sherlock’s in the forest with James,” was Mycroft’s first words.

“I know. He went looking for John. I imagine they have him somewhere else.”

“We need to get to John, so James has no more leverage,” Mycroft continued.

His wrists free, he quickly untied his ankles. Anthea held out his cane, Mycroft took it, and gave the handle a peculiar twist. The bottom of the cane came apart to reveal a sword, long and thin. Mycroft stood, grimacing.

“I detest fieldwork.” He glanced over at Anthea. “Thank you.”

Anthea smiled. “I detest breaking in new employers.”

Mycroft strode to the door, pulling back the bolt to let the whole door fall to the ground. He hid a smile at the efficient mess Anthea had made.

“I think I know where John is.”

Anthea followed him along the corridor until they reached Sherlock’s door. Anthea touched Mycroft’s arm. He looked at her inquiringly. She whispered in his ear.

“Let me try. I’m less of a threat.”

Mycroft stepped back, as Anthea knocked on the door.

“Hello? Sherlock it’s Anthea. Can I talk to you?”

Her voice suddenly sounded breathy and unsure, and very feminine. They waited, then heard the door rattle. Anthea motioned at Mycroft to stay back out of immediate sight. Mycroft did so reluctantly. Allowing Sebastian to put his hands on Anthea again was an unpleasant feeling.

The door opened, and Anthea let out a girly shriek as she was pulled inside. Mycroft darted forward, his foot in the door to stop it from closing. He ducked through to see Sebastian with his back to the door, and his hands around Anthea’s neck. John was tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth. His eyes widened as he saw Mycroft. The older man spared him a quick glance, turning his gaze back to Sebastian. He had Anthea against the wall, his large hands digging into the soft skin of her neck. Moving forward, he made a rapid calculation. Raising his sword, he angled it precisely and made a neat stab into Sebastian’s spinal column. The man’s legs collapsed and he hit the floor, shrieking in pain as Mycroft stabbed him again, this time in the stomach. Anthea took in several shuddering breaths, before heading over to John and pulling the gag out. Mycroft wiped his sword on Sebastian’s tunic, frowning in distaste.

“He’s got Sherlock!” John yelled. “Get me out of this!”

“We’re well aware, John,” Mycroft said coolly, as Anthea untied the younger man.

“He’s going to need to have this shoulder fixed,” Anthea said dispassionately, her voice a little hoarse.

Mycroft sighed. “Leave those last ropes on then. We’ll do it now.”

John growled in frustration. “We don’t have time for this! Just stop- uurrgh!”

A wave of pain swamped him as Mycroft stuck his forearm under John’s arm, grasped John’s forearm with his other hand, and pulled.

“Done.”

Anthea finished untying John as Mycroft gave her instructions.

“Tie up the woman, then fetch the guards loyal to us and leave some to guard the Queen. Meet us in the forest after.”

As soon as John was free he headed for the door, staggering a little at the pain from his shoulder.

“Come on Mycroft, we have to hurry.”

“Lead the way,” Mycroft said, his tone for once free of irony.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will John make it in time to save Sherlock?

Sherlock’s hands were shaking as James continued to push the apple towards his lips. James’ dark, mad eyes were mesmerising. The shiny red apple was surrounded by a faint yellow glow, and smelt sickly sweet.

“Wait..I can’t...why are you doing this? Why this kingdom?”

James grinned, keeping the apple at Sherlock’s lips.

“I was bored. Your Mother arrived, I took the opportunity. I heard her tell of your cleverness Sherlock, but I must say, you disappoint me. I had hoped to play with you for longer.”

He shrugged. “Enough flirting. Take a bite. Or I will have Sebby cut your pet into tiny pieces.”

Sherlock shuddered. He couldn’t think of how to escape this. He couldn’t let them hurt John. James pressed the apple against Sherlock’s full lips, reluctantly he parted them.

“Thaat’s it my little Prince. Now take a bite,” James crooned.

With his other hand, he took a handful of Sherlock’s curls, pulling the back of the Prince’s head towards him. Sherlock bit into the apple.

The apple’s flesh was crisp, and the juice sweet. Sherlock felt a strange zing of energy through him as he chewed and swallowed. James lowered the apple, but he still had a hand gripping the Prince’s hair. Suddenly a sharp wave of nausea swept through him. He gasped, his legs trembling.

James smirked.

“Starting to feel it?”

Sherlock grabbed hold of the hand twisted in his hair and pulled.

“I’ve eaten your ridiculous magic apple, now let go of me!”  

Stabbing pains began in his legs, which gave way. James released his grip as Sherlock collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain.

“Poor little Prince,” James said mockingly. “It hurts, doesn’t it? I made the spell nice and slow for you. Don’t worry about dying alone, I’ll be here to watch every single moment.”

Sherlock couldn’t hold back whimpers of pain, as agony moved up his legs, spreading into his stomach and chest. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move.

James sank cross-legged onto the grass beside Sherlock, watching him avidly. He stretched out a hand and stroked the boy’s hair. Sherlock flinched away from him, curling into a foetal position as he gasped for breath. The agony moved into his head, and he screamed as his brain, his clever dependable brain, felt like it was splintering into sawdust.

“And just think,” James said in a conversational tone, “once you’re dead, I’ll have John and your tutor killed. The Queen will die a slow death of grief, I think. Fitting, wouldn’t you say?”

Sherlock moaned, giving into despair. He couldn’t think, couldn’t fight against magic. He hadn’t saved John, he couldn’t save anyone. He was useless.

***

The dark slowed down John just enough for Mycroft to keep up with him, as they hurried through the forest. John strode confidently, even in the dark. Mycroft hid his stumbles, keeping a firm grip on his sword. John didn’t talk, Mycroft’s attempts at conversation met with grunts. Mycroft feared that they were too late. What defence could they offer against magic? He accessed all the information on magic spells that he had managed to accumulate during months of study and ran it through his memory. There must something that could help.

John vibrated with rage. He was dimly aware of the pain in his shoulder, the aches in his stomach and head from Sebastian’s blows, but they all paled next to his need to tear Duke James apart with his bare hands. He stiffened as he heard a scream ring out across the forest. It was Sherlock.

“John,” Mycroft said warningly, and John realised he had been growling.

He forced it down, and stepped up his pace. He was nearly there...they stepped into the clearing. Sherlock was on the ground, James sitting cross-legged next to him, a hand on his curls. John growled, and grabbed Mycroft’s sword with his left hand.

“Wait, no we have to question him!” Mycroft protested as John strode across the clearing, sword in hand.

James rose to his feet, looking annoyed.

“You’re too late, he’s-“

John stabbed James through the throat, blood soaking into his tunic.

“Get the hell away from him!”

The Duke looked at John disbelievingly, as he dropped to his knees. John stabbed him again, through the chest, just to make sure, before dropping the sword to the ground. Dropping to his knees beside Sherlock, he turned the younger boy over. Sherlock’s face was tinged with blue, and he was outlined with a yellow glow.

“Sherlock!” John said in an anguished tone.

“I suspect this is the culprit,” Mycroft commented, showing John an apple with a bite taken out of it. “He used this to carry the spell.”

Mycroft knelt down beside John, reaching out a tentative hand to touch Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock’s eyes were closed. John looked at Mycroft, his face was sad and his forehead creased in worry. John listened for his heartbeat and breathing- both were faint.

“Sherlock, come back to me,” John whispered in his ear, hauling him up into his lap. “Don’t leave! Please!”

Mycroft cleared his throat uncomfortably. John turned to him.

“Help him! You must know something! He’s dying, Mycroft!”

Mycroft looked embarrassed.

“There’s one remedy I remember reading about, but I’m not certain of its accuracy. Hypothetically, a kiss of...true love...” Mycroft cleared his throat again. “..is a powerful antidote to many spells.”

“Sherlock I’d kiss you a thousand times if it meant you’d open your eyes and come back to me,” John murmured, heedless of Mycroft’s awkward presence.

John leant down, smoothing the curls out of Sherlock’s face, and gave him a gentle kiss. Pressing his lips against the familiar Cupid’s bow, it hurt to feel the Sherlock’s mouth so slack and unresponsive. John tasted sickly sweet apple, before it tingled against his lips and disappeared. John looked at Sherlock, the yellow glowing outline was gone.

“Mycroft, is it working?”

John put his ear against Sherlock’s chest, his heart seemed stronger.

“J..John?” came a weak whisper.

“Sherlock!”

John lifted his head to find Sherlock’s eyes open, blearily gazing at him. He grinned, kissing Sherlock’s lips again. This time he received a response. They were interrupted by Mycroft pointedly clearing his throat again.

“As much as I’m pleased to see you are alive Sherlock, we really should be getting back. And fabricating a reason for Duke James to be found dead in the forest.”

“Hunting accident?” John quipped, as Sherlock sat up to see James’ dead body lying on the ground beside them.

“You did that?” Sherlock asked quietly, pressing himself against John’s side.

“He’s never hurting you again,” John replied grimly.

Mycroft sighed.

“We’ll leave him, I’ll have it made to look like wild animals. With any luck, James’ death will have negated the spell on the Queen. Shall we?”

Sherlock stood up, leaning on John as he wobbled unsteadily. He gripped John’s arm hard.

“You’re real aren’t you John? I’m not imagining this? What happened to Sebastian?”

“Mycroft happened to Sebastian.”

Sherlock cast Mycroft a sceptical look. The older man had picked up his sword, after wiping it carefully on the grass.

“I find that hard to believe.”

John grinned, taking Sherlock’s hand in his warm one.

“Your tutor has hidden depths.”

“You’re alright? Your shoulder is hurt.”

“I’m fine Sherlock. You were the one who nearly died.”

“You brought me back, John,” Sherlock said shyly. “I heard you. And then you kissed me, and took all the pain away.”

John squeezed the Prince’s hand.

“No one’s going to hurt you anymore love. I’m sticking by your side from now on.”

Mycroft sighed. It was going to be a _long_ walk back to the castle.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings and beginnings.

Sherlock pulled a knapsack out from under his bed, and started packing. The joy of having his mother back to normal had lasted as long as it took her to start nagging him about making a suitable marriage. Mycroft supported the idea, but Sherlock could see that the tutor didn’t expect Sherlock to go along with it. Not after witnessing what had happened in the forest. But Mycroft wasn’t going to go against the Queen, either.

Well Sherlock was sick of it. He didn’t want to rule, and he didn’t want to marry. Leaving a letter on the bed for Mycroft, he hurried down to the kitchens, where Mrs Hudson stopped him.

“Wait Sherlock, take this,” she whispered, as she pressed a squashy package into his arms. “This should tide you and John over for a few days.”

“Mrs Hudson, I-“

“You think I don’t see what’s going on with you young man? I’m not blind.”

Sherlock blushed as Mrs Hudson hugged and kissed him.

“Take care, dear boy. I’ll miss you.”

Sherlock burst into John’s clearing, where the older boy was fletching arrows.

“John!”

John looked up, frowning as he took in Sherlock’s luggage.

“What’s going on?”

Sherlock took a deep breath.

“I’m leaving, and I want you to come with me.”

“Sherlock, I-“

“I’ve got it all worked out,” Sherlock interrupted, talking fast. “I left a note for Mycroft explaining everything. He’ll make sure your mother and sister are taken care of. I have horses waiting, we can get a long distance away, I-“

“Sherlock!”

John put down his tools, stepping forward to grasp the Prince by the shoulders. He smiled into Sherlock’s worried eyes.

“Yes. Of course I’ll go with you. I’d follow you anywhere, you idiot.”

“Oh,” Sherlock smiled. “Well, then.”

“Let me just fetch a pack. And my bow.”

John came back out ready to go, and dropped the bags at Sherlock’s feet. Drawing the willing boy into his arms, he kissed him long and sweetly. They broke apart, Sherlock flushed and panting.

“What was that for?”

John grinned, dark blue eyes sparkling.

“To new adventures.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote. My initial one-shot for a friend certainly grew into something more! It's been fun sharing my first Sherlock story with you, dear readers. If you enjoyed it, please leave me kudos and a comment. 
> 
> If you liked my writing, feel free to check out my other stuff. My London Calling series is a fun adventure of magic, action and romance. :-)


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